“The patriot’s blood is the seed of freedom’s tree.” ~Thomas Campbell
Never having served in the military, I cannot fully comprehend the scope of the personal sacrifices made by former and present members of the nation’s armed forces.
Any knowledge I have gleaned about military service comes secondhand from family members and friends who have proudly worn the uniform of the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, Coast Guard, Army National Guard or Air Force National Guard.
One truth I have observed is that, whether in peacetime or wartime, military service seems always to make men out of boys and women out of girls. It does not matter whether the individual enlists or is drafted, as in times past, the intense training and regimentation change a person.
There is little question that those who find themselves serving in harm’s way during a time of conflict, whether war or some other military action, are more deeply affected. It stands to reason, then, that those on the tip of the sword bear the greatest lasting scars — emotionally, if not physically.
On Memorial Day Monday, the nation is asked to remember the roughly 1.1 million Americans who have died while serving in the armed forces.
I am here today because my father, John Robert Clayton McFerrin, did not become a teenage statistic. He was not among the 36,914 Americans killed in the Korean War of the early 1950s.
A 1949 graduate of Charleston High School, Dad was called up for service in the U.S. Army as part of the United Nations Command. That body included multinational military forces supporting the Republic of Korea after that nation was invaded by communist North Korea.
Dad did not often speak of his wartime experiences. When he did, he had very little to say. Like many other veterans who have seen the ugly face of war, Dad never opened up about combat. If someone asked him about the war, he usually would recount the sad faces of South Korean children and other war refugees who, with arms and hands outstretched through restraining fences, begged American troops for food. Or he would mention the bitter cold there.
Thousands of American troops on South Korea’s frosty mountain slopes endured extended periods of subfreezing temperatures, often 20 or 30 below zero. Despite the heavy wool uniforms, socks and gloves that were issued to them, many suffered from frostbite. Dad was one of them.
For decades, on many evenings, I watched him soak his dry, cracked feet in a large, round metal pan of hot water. I could tell his hands also bothered him at times. He never complained. He came home alive — hands, feet and other body parts intact — and he knew he was blessed despite the discomforts.
Dad did not have many physical scars, but the emotional toll was lasting.
The truth is, he never fully came home from Korea.
It sounds cliche, but part of my father stayed in that war zone, and part of the war zone stayed with my dad for the rest of his days.
Even if they are not called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice, all of those who serve in the military, especially during combat, give up something of themselves that they can never get back.
We owe them respect, support and a debt of gratitude for standing in the gap to help protect all that we hold dear.
Clay McFerrin is editor and publisher of The Sun-Sentinel.
