On a day when we honor all of the brave men and women who have fought for freedom, I am reminded of my time in Europe, walking along the shores of the Normandy Beaches. I had heard stories in history class of the events that took place; I had heard my parents talk about their experience; but as is the case with most things in life, we learn by our own hands-on, in-person involvement with the things of this world.
My short time along those beaches secured for myself my passion, gratitude, and deep love for this country and those who have fought for her. Nothing hit me quite like standing on those sacred shores, internalizing the real events that happened there.
Now keep in mind, World War II wasn't all that long ago. Yes, you may not have been alive for it, but that doesn't mean that it's a completely ancient event. In fact, in 2025 on the 6th of June, it will be the 81st anniversary of “D-Day" … the day that brave and courageous men from three countries (America, Canada, and Great Britain) were willing to give up their lives for the freedom of the world.
My no-so-little brother was 16 years old when I visited these shores. I couldn’t imagine boys like him fighting in such atrocity. It truly was hard to wrap my brain around. When he was 18 years old, he joined the Army and served a year long deployment. He was not even 21 years old and it was, again, hard for me to imagine someone so young involved in such hard things. Things I would never be able to understand because they aren’t able to talk about it, both by oath and by emotional stamina. My heart aches for all the times I’ve seen his eyes widen, glance down quickly, shake his head and change the subject. This is his reality.
Perhaps you are this age.
Maybe you’ve got a younger sibling.
A child of your own around this age.
Keep them in mind.
Early on June 6, just after midnight, they first sent over the paratroopers.
The weather leading into that day was nasty. And it stayed nasty. It was rainy, the night was dark, and they were to jump. Jumping out of an airplane to a land that they couldn't see or (literally) understand … complete enemy territory. Thick clouds made it difficult for them to see their targets , and many of them landed in water and drowned. Some landed in mine fields, some on roof houses, some on the ground, anywhere.
What courage! No, this is not a time to give hugs, chat with your friends, send a meme. Not a time to say farewell and talk about all the good times. You're on a mission and the time is now. Jump. And if they survived the jump, it wasn't over. They were in enemy territory, fighting for their life on their own, in the dark, until they found other paratroopers.
Next they sent over the bombs, dropped from aircraft. Then, just after 7am, in from the ocean came the men that were to fight on foot, on the German occupied beaches. These men were seasick, homesick, and no-doubt scared beyond belief.
At Utah Beach, the marker to attack was about a mile and a half away but all the smoke made it hard to see and the storm made it hard to steer. Their commander declared, "We'll start the war here!" and so they did. Along every beach, the Germans had made the coasts secure, making an attack nigh impossible. They had anti-tank obstacles, barbed wire rolls, mines, etc.
“All that remained on the beach was some sniping and artillery fire, and the occasional startling blast of a mine geysering brown sand into the air … That plus the bodies of soldiers lying in rows covered with blankets, the toes of their shoes sticking up in a line as though on drill. And other bodies, uncollected, still sprawling grotesquely in the sand or half hidden by the high grass beyond the beach. That plus an intense, grim determination of work-weary men to get this chaotic beach organised and get all the vital supplies and the reinforcements moving more rapidly over it from the stacked-up ships standing in droves out to sea. Now that it is over it seems to me a pure miracle that we ever took the beach at all.” WWII soldier, Ernie Pyle
So … why does this matter? Why did McKenna spend days walking along the beaches and hours writing a blog post about it? I don't live in France, or even Europe, for that matter. …. why?
Sometimes I think that the best way to honor the memory and sacrifice of those who served is to learn what happened, remember what happened, and appreciate what we have because it happened. As I hear the stories and read about the experiences of these brave men, I can't help but admire their courage. These men were so selfless and willing to sacrifice their lives for another country.
Boys as young (and some younger than) my brother. Boys with and without training! Boys scared to death but wanting to do what was right. Wanting to be a part of something good, something so much bigger than themselves. They wanted to change the world. And if dying was their lot, then it was a sacrifice worth being made.
At the Normandy American Cemetery, there are 9,386 buried Americans who lost their lives during WWII, a large part of them from the D-Day landings. I was so moved as I looked over Ohama Beach, knowing that men my age had felt some of the most intense feelings in that sand. Watching your leaders, your comrades, and your friends get shot all around you. Seeing them drown, hearing their cries. Smelling the gun smoke, feeling the fire. It all happened here. It's real.
"If your soldiers had gone to war only for the defense of American interests, the propaganda would have emphasized your oil fields, your plantations, and your threatened commercial markets. Instead, it scarcely touched on those subjects. If other things were being spoken of, it is because your boys wanted to hear something different.
And what were they told that could motivate them to sacrifice their lives? They were told of hostages hanged in Poland. They were told of prisoners shot in France. The were told that a new form of slavery threatened to extinguish a part of Humanity. They were told not about themselves, but of others. That gave them a sense of solidarity with all mankind. The fifty thousand soldiers in my convoy went to war not to save American citizens, but rather for Man himself, respect for Mankind, liberty for all men, the greatness of Man...."
~Letter To An American (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
Never have I felt more proud and humbled to be an American. I remember praying during our visit to Europe, and every night I said, “I'm so grateful to live in America and be visiting Europe at this time.”
Europe is thee coolest place. I mean, c’mon… the food is fantastic, the people are wonderful, the history is immense. So much history that I'll never get to see in my lifetime.
... but America? Incredible. I’ve come to appreciate Her even more since my experience in Europe, and it continues with every year following. Our boys risking their lives for not only theirs, but another ones country. Heroic. Beautiful.
I left those beaches that day, never in all my life, more proud of our boys and the country I call home. I look up to them. I want to be the kind of American worth fighting for, and I know that we can all do better. As a whole. As the United States of America, we can honor the goodness of those who have gone before, and become as our name declares us. United.
This past election has me baffled at the amount of disgust and hatred, hopelessness and division toward our fellow men. We do not agree, but surely we can be agreeable. We might not see eye to eye, but we can still walk hand in hand. We may feel hopeless, but surely we can be united in our love and hope in America’s future. Because there was a time, not long ago, when men from this SAME country did something that changed the world. And because of them and what they did on these sacred shores, we have a world where the French actually get to speak French, the Italians get to speak Italian, and the Russians get to speak Russian.
Boys that became men. Men that became heroes. I've never been more grateful to be an American and I’ll never be ashamed.
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