I was thinking recently about how the two servers I generally work with are a combined age that is equal to my own. How funny is that? I’m sure there are people who would be unhappy about being the oldest employee in a particular business, but it honestly doesn’t bother me. I feel fortunate to have the many, many years of experience(s) that I do have and, other than my occasional concern that restaurant guests are going to be uncomfortable with the old veteran server taking care of them, I don’t mind being a person who is looked to for advice or assistance. Situations arise when you’re working with the public and my years in the business have provided me with a post-graduate degree in hospitality, as well the knowledge that there’s always something new to learn. My experience is respected and appreciated.
The other morning, I was performing the school morning ballet with Morning Edition as my soundtrack. I was flitting around the kitchen making coffee and lunches and breakfast when I heard something that made me stop in my tracks. Story Corp was on and the man speaking, Harvey Hilbert, was talking about a night in 1966, the year I was born, when he almost died. Mr. Hilbert was fighting in the jungles of Vietnam and his memories of his last night of war were remarkable for both the simplicity in which they were relayed, and the raw emotion that remained present in his voice 45+ years later. Powerful, powerful stuff. So powerful, in fact, that during the day this well-timed Veteran’s Day weekend life story was a topic of conversation in more than one location of which I’m aware. I am filled with respect for Mr. Hilbert and all he sacrificed.
That very same day, I stopped in the grocery store to pick up a few things. The check out process was a little arduous with a new cashier, and the annoyance of a neighboring customer who insisted upon placing his bagged purchases in the cart he had parked in the middle of aisle delaying my departure for a minute or two. As I finally got past him and made my way to the exit, I saw a man seated in one of those chair/shopping cart contraptions. He was wearing a hat that was emblazoned with thick embroidery reading: Korean War Veteran. I paused, as thoughts of soldier Hilbert raced through my mind. I approached the man, allowing myself to act on instinct, and gently touched his shoulder. He looked up at me and I said “Thank you. Thank you for all you’ve done.” His eyes got wide and shiny and he responded, “You’re welcome.”
Veterans of the world, know that you are appreciated. (And a personal P.S. to my big brother, the most veteran person in my life – Happy Birthday!!)
DelSo 