Ask any World War II veteran if he or she thinks our country is in a recession and after they get done chuckling, listen closely to their response.
The answer will probably be something along the lines of this: During the war, most of the men in this country were spread out over the globe fighting for the freedom of this great country. And the ones who were not were back home working in the factories producing products to sustain the battle. Men, women, and children made sacrifices that are far removed from the luxuries of today. Back then, what made this country great was that we were a hard working nation, full of pride and willing to work for it. The reason this country is great today is because of the pride and hard work that generations before us were committed to. Fighting off fascism and evil men to protect our freedoms and the rights of every human on the planet took relentless and unselfish sacrifices.
Now we outsource our work to India, drive Korean cars, and get depressed we look at our mutual fund statement online because we lost a few thousand dollars in interest. All the while we’re sipping our four dollar cup of coffee.
My grandfather, who served this great country for 22 years as a career military man, has taught me the importance of American pride, and without it, this country will continue to lose its identity and the general mindset of your average American will lose touch with the fighting spirit.
The notions of God and country, family and apple pie must be revisited. The foundations that our forefathers grounded our beliefs in must not be forgotten. We as a nation must take pride in protecting our borders, preserving the future for our children, and realize how good we actually have it.
So next payday, instead of complaining while I am dropping two dollars for every gallon of gas I pump into my pickup, I will remember the sacrifices of generations of Americans that have come before me, then I will be thankful that I have a paycheck, health insurance, and a retirement.
Then I’m buying a six pack of American beer and a couple of fresh baked apple pies, climbing up into my American pickup truck, and stopping by my local VFW hall on the way home just to drop off the beer and pie to the first veteran I see when I walk through the door.
When that veteran gives me a firm handshake and looks me square in the eyes (the way men used to do) and says “thank you,” I will stop him short and say, “No sir, thank you.”
With a giant grin on my face, I will walk out of the place, see that American flag waving in the breeze, wave to the local cop driving by, and pop in my Alabama CD just so I can listen to the song “40 hour week” on my way home.