My 18 year old son walked into his first day of college classes this morning. And I’m truly excited for him. Like any mother, truly proud of his accomplishment and expectant for what lies ahead.
All day, however, I couldn’t help but feel the deep mix of emotions knowing that while my boy walked into a college classroom, there are other boys—not much older than him—being brought home today in coffins.
The disparity of these two things is not lost on me.
A gift only made possible by the men and women willing to serve our country with full knowledge they may be required to lay down their very lives. Required to look at what each day brings—not for what they deserve from it, but as their duty to serve in it.
Like the 13 who did just that this past week.
I wonder, as Americans, if we wouldn’t be better off looking at our freedoms through the eyes of those who serve, instead of pounding our fists and demanding what we think we deserve.
My kids learned early on to never use that word with me. They knew the mother-wrath they’d encounter should they ever choose the sore path of that misguided argument. Even this very week as our son headed off to college, we underscored with him not the entitlement of higher education, but the opportunity of this year ahead.
“It’s not a given, son, it’s a gift. A Gift.”
Treat it as such. Work hard. Hold it carefully. Handle it as treasure. Value it as an investment. But don’t dare ever look me in the eye and say, “I deserve it.” No sir.
Our chance to chase dreams, our path to pursue goals, our freedom to live freely … No, not ever a “given,” fellow Americans, but a generous GIFT GIVEN by the brave ones willing to pay with their lives.
For us.
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