An Unpopular Opinion

Dear Veterans,

I know many of you. I'm not going to thank you for your service.

Before people get up in arms about it, allow me to explain.

When I was a much, much younger man, I spent most of my time running around with bikers. Real bikers. Not weekend warriors wearing officially licensed Harley-Davidson underwear.

One thing most of these cats had in common? They were Vietnam vets.

None of them chose to go fight a war. They were drafted. Yanked out of their normal lives, sent to boot camp, dressed in a uniform, given a gun, and told KILL KILL KILL.

Each one saw and did things no man should ever have to. Some never made it home. Those who did were permanently changed, and usually not for the better.

They made sacrifices without a choice.

I listened to their stories. I watched as their minds kept being dragged back to the jungle. I can't say I understood their pain, but I made damned sure to show them the respect they'd earned, again, without having had a say in the matter.

I'll forever thank them for their service and sacrifice.

I'm old enough to have known men who fought in Korea and World War II. My step-grandfather fought in the latter.

He had stories.

I'd watch his eyes grow dark as he discussed battles. I'd watch them light up as he discussed old friends and battle buddies. I'd smile as he told me stories of his time as a young man from Ohio, walking the streets of towns and villages he'd never even heard of.

An ex-girlfriend's uncle had been a POW in a Nazi camp for six months. He came back permanently changed. After the war, he never slept well again without copious amounts of booze.

I listened to his stories in awe. Like so many others, he'd lived through hell on earth and come home.

I heard war stories from older gents who had fought in Korea.

Again, I'll forever thank them for their service and sacrifice.

For so many of those men, the decision to fight wasn't theirs to make. It was made by men in suits, far removed from the consequences of their decisions.

My dad was a vet.

He never saw combat. He saw an Army base in Texas, classrooms, and surgery suites.

The military, for him, was a career move. Had he joined with the personal conviction of being a soldier, or a "warrior," as the right-wing pundits like to bandy about, dear ol' Dad might have gone career military.

Such wasn't the case.

He did his time. As a doctor, he was given the rank of captain.

The only story I remember him telling was about the day he attempted to berate an enlisted man for questioning his choice of footwear en route to the showers.

The enlisted man, who was on guard duty, was simply warning Dad about the scorpions in the showers. He was looking out for this young captain's well-being.

Dad initially spoke down to the young guard, who was simply doing his job as he understood it. Dad admittedly felt foolish upon learning the reality of the situation.

When my father died a few years ago, my stepmother arranged for a full military tribute at his funeral.

Honestly, I was mortified.

It felt to me like unearned glory.

I never once felt compelled to thank him for his service. He'd made a choice. Career-wise, it was a good one.

By the time I turned 18, the draft had long been a thing of the past. Military service had become a choice.

For many, it was a path to an education they otherwise could never afford. For others, it was a path toward career training. Some went full-time, full-career. Most never saw a day of combat.

Personally, I'd planned to go career military, but not necessarily for the reasons some might think.

My ASVAB scores, along with my SAT scores, caught the attention of every branch of the military. ROTC had been advised. I passed.

The USAF band caught my attention.

I liked the idea of being paid to play music, using top-of-the-line gear. I also liked the idea of joining at 18, retiring at 38 or 40, and then going off to play more music.

Long story short, it didn't happen.

I went for my physical and was PDQ'ed. Too many health problems. An autoimmune disorder, a screwed-up back, and a few other things kept me out.

At least, I tell myself, I tried.

So many of my friends from school went into the military. Back then, you either went to college or into the military. Those were the two main choices.

I've never seen a PR campaign thanking college graduates for sacrificing decades of student loan payments.

"Thank You For Your Financial Sacrifice! You'll probably never get the job you thought you would, and you'll probably have gray hair before your loans are paid off...but thanks for playing along!"

The U.S. views wars and the military as a business, and business is always good.

The men and women who do the actual fighting get the short end of the stick. Always.

Try finding an exact amount of the percentage of each tax dollar that goes to civilian military contractors. Best of luck with that. I've been looking for years.

The United States hasn't fought a conventional war against another nation's army on its own mainland in generations. The Battle of Ambos Nogales, along the Mexican border in 1918, was one of the last such armed confrontations.

Yet we're constantly told that we fight for an idea. For democracy. For the American way of life!

FREEDOM!

It's been a good marketing campaign, no doubt there.

All it cost was some lives.

The profits have been amazing!

I have friends who fought in Desert Storm. I have friends who fought in the Iraq War.

All of them volunteered. Most didn't believe they'd see combat.

Some did.

Some never came back.

For those, I'll thank their families for the sacrifice. But I still believe those wars were fool's errands, as are most wars. Every war is based on a lie.

The claims about weapons of mass destruction used to justify the invasion of Iraq proved false. And I have a hard time accepting the noble explanations we're handed whenever somebody decides it's time for another war.

Military service has been a choice since 1973.

Why are the American people supposed to thank a group of people simply for making a career choice?

If you want gratitude, try finding a plumber who can fix your toilet in the middle of the night.

I know a certain Marine general who has done that job. And I know the people who were thankful for that particular service.

His military career is definitely interesting, but real gratitude is being able to flush when needed.

"Thank You For Your Service" is, in my opinion, little more than a marketing campaign and a meme.

Remember WHO you're thanking, and specifically WHAT you're showing gratitude for.

There's a good chance you're bringing up a period of someone's life they'd rather not revisit. For some, that means trauma, guilt, or memories they've spent years trying to live with.

And I'm not the only one who questions the phrase.

A 2019 survey commissioned by the Cohen Veterans Network found that 49% of veterans and active-duty service members felt uncomfortable being thanked for their service.

Think about that.

Nearly half of those surveyed weren't particularly comfortable with the very phrase we're all supposed to repeat. Worst of all, the more we are conditioned to say THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE, the more it rings of empty platitudes. 

I have friends who were clerks, cooks, and mechanics in the military. I'm certain the other enlisted men, and even some officers, were beyond grateful for their ability to keep accurate records, serve chow on time, and keep the jeeps, trucks, and everything else running.

That's actual service. Work that needed doing, done by people who knew how to do it.

And I'm sure plenty of them would be happy to tell you about it.

If you want to thank vets, do it the right way.

Make sure the VA is running properly and is properly funded. Make sure veterans can access the benefits they've earned.

Go find a Vietnam vet and make him feel welcomed. A lot of them weren't when they came home.

Question any politician or public figure who's a war hawk. Especially those who've never set foot in a combat zone. They're awfully quick to talk about the necessity of war when somebody else will be doing the fighting.

A friend once wrote me from Iraq.

I'll never forget his description.

"5,000 miles from home and 50 feet from Hell."

Remember that the next time you get all excited about war.

And never forget, Donald Trump is a fucking draft dodger.

copyright notice © 2026 Michael C. Metzger