Seeing Past the Symbols: Reflections on accompanying my dad on an Honor Flight

I recently accompanied my dad on an honor flight. It wasn’t what I expected. But context is important, so let’s begin there.

I’m not a veteran, but my dad, Bob Eisenhauer, is. I grew up with his stories of life aboard ship, from living on a Naval base, and from years of periodic training duty in the Naval Reserves. It was a life that happened before mine began.

I learned the Pledge of Allegiance before I was old enough to understand it. I was a good kid. I did what I was told and felt good about it, even though it became rote and meaningless in its slow and broken cadence.

I was a junior in high school on Sept. 11, 2001. I remember the eruption of fear and anger and pride and resolve. Patriotism peaked all around me and in me, and it was the first time I thought much about it.

On July 4, 2002, I sat in a lawn chair in Jackson City Park and waited for the fireworks to begin. Somewhere nearby, a speaker played a patriotic playlist, and I heard Toby Keith sing the lyrics, “We’ll put a boot in your ass. It’s the American way.” People cheered. My patriotism flinched. I didn’t turn away, but I began turning some things over in my mind.

Am I proud of my country? I wondered. I love my country. It’s mine. I was born here. Do I have to be proud of it? Do I have to be proud of the boots and the places we put them?

What about the men and women wearing the boots?

These questions keep coming up years later. I imagine the response to my unspoken dilemma coming from the angriest and loudest subset of patriots. “Love it or leave it!” I sigh. I look around at the trenches we’ve dug and the minefields we’ve laid. No man’s land is a scary place to be.

Over the years, I became disillusioned by what I perceive as superficial displays of flag-waving, hand-on-the-heart, performative patriotism, by the commercialization of our pride, by the way our national pride too often morphs into nationalism and xenophobia, by the self-serving and half-hearted reverence for veterans shown by politicians using them as their pawns. I was cynical. I still am.

When my dad asked me to accompany him as his guardian on the inaugural Southeast Missouri Honor Flight, however, it was an easy “yes.” Honor flights give veterans the opportunity to visit the war memorials and monuments in Washington, D.C. He and I have both visited some of these monuments, but never together and certainly never in this context. The communal aspect of shared experiences is one of the things that makes an honor flight so special. I could see why this was important to him, and I wanted to support him.

Still, I was apprehensive. I expected I would be well out of my element. After all, that fundamental shared experience is not my experience. At many of the monuments and memorials, visitors are encouraged to observe silence out of respect. I intended to embrace that practice for the entirety of the trip. I would keep my head down and ignore any grenades that got lobbed. There was no need to bring my messy thoughts into any of this. I would just support my dad and get through it.

Our tour bus pass through Arlington National Cemetery, My dad, Bob Eisenhauer, looks on.Aaron Eisenhauer

On the second day of the trip, we visited Arlington National Cemetery. There, we witnessed the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

It was quiet at the tomb. A crowd of spectators watched silently as the Old Guard sentinel stood his watch.

His duty is specific. He faces east. He continues to face east for 21 seconds. He turns to the north. He faces north for 21 seconds. He takes 21 paces forward. He turns to the east for 21 seconds. He turns to the south for 21 seconds.

He takes 21 paces. He turns to the east. Again and again. His movement is deliberate and precise, yet fluid. His stillness is firm and unshakable, but tense with readiness.

At the changing of the guard, the commanding officer and another sentinel arrive and proceed through another rigorous routine where every detail of the sentinel’s appearance and weapon are scrutinized by the officer. It underlines the attention to detail these men and women subject themselves to as they maintain a 24-hour vigil at this tomb.

A sentinel stands guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington, Va., as veterans from another Honor Flight watch.Aaron Eisenhauer

I was shaken by the weight of this ceremonial display. It was sacred. These men and women live lives of devotion and sacrifice, proceeding through their day with meticulous and meditative routine. They are monks. They serve something unseen, or at least some- thing unseen by me, and it feels pure.

Symbols and ceremonies are useless unless you can feel the significance behind them. I had never quite felt it in this way before. The sacrifices of the men and women buried in graves spreading out for acres all around me felt tangible.

Later that day, I sat on the ground a short distance from the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. I was at the feet of three veterans, listening to them share stories. One of them, a veteran of the Marine Corps who served two tours in Vietnam, shared a story about the apprehension he felt when he arrived at boot camp and was told he was “going to kill the Commies.” It was honest and human.

Looking at our veterans from the outside, it’s easy for me to reduce them to a monolith that fits neatly in a box. To ignore the many facets of the individuals and average them out into a stereotype. To create a symbol of a veteran, that a brain as lazy as mine can process. But looking closer, I see many of them share my messy mind. They also feel conflicted and stranded in no man’s land occasionally. It’s easier to respect and honor a human than a monolith, the actual person rather than the symbol.

I was cynical. I still am. But now, I see a bit of the truth that’s been muddied. I’ll never see that truth with the same clarity as the people who lived it, who gave their lives for it in part or in whole, who served and sacrificed for this country, for us, for you and for me.

To those people, our veterans, thank you.

Want to go on an Honor Flight?

The Southeast Missouri Honor Flight is one of many hubs in the nationwide Honor Flight Network that seeks to pay tribute to our veterans by providing the opportunity to share a meaningful experience with their fellow service members in our nation’s capital.

All travel costs and expenses are covered for eligible veterans. Each veteran is assigned a guardian to assist them throughout the flight. Veterans and guardians may apply together or independently.

For more information on participating as a veteran or volunteer, contact the Southeast Missouri Honor Flight via email at semohonorflight@gmail.com.