By Julia Katz
“Thank you for your service.”
Five words. Twenty-two letters. Some of the most meaningful words a person can say.
Those words were etched into my mind early in life by my mother, the only person I know who loves the American flag as much as I do. We love it because we understand the sacrifices made to protect it. The sacrifice of life, innocence, and family.
My grandfather, Allen G. James, served in the Vietnam War. Nearly forty years after returning home, he was diagnosed with bile duct cancer related to war exposure. He passed away in 2012, when I was in second grade. My mother explained to me how my Pop-Pop had gotten sick, but it didn’t make sense to me. I never once heard him talk about the “big war.”
Now, as an adult, I understand why.
In the summer of 2014, my Pop-Pop was honored at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, along with others who lost their lives as a result of their service. It was my first time in Washington, D.C., and my first time seeing the memorial. At ten years old, I wasn’t thinking about who I would be or where I’d be in 2025. I certainly didn’t imagine that D.C. would one day hold such a special place in my heart.
Later that year, my mother became a guardian for Honor Flight Long Island, an organization that flies Veterans to Washington, D.C., to visit memorials dedicated to their service. The following year, my father joined as a guardian on another flight.
I grew up welcoming Veterans home at MacArthur Airport after long, emotional days and volunteering at reunions filled with stories, laughter, and tears. A decade ago, those flights mainly carried World War II Veterans, men and women with whom my parents were honored to build lasting friendships. Today, the flights are filled with mostly Vietnam Veterans, with the same mission: to honor their service, sacrifice, and stories.
On Saturday, October 5th, 2025, I was proud to FINALLY follow in my parents’ footsteps as a guardian for the first time. You would have never known it was 3 a.m. when the staff, guardians, and Veterans arrived at MacArthur Airport to begin the day. The excitement and energy in the room were unlike anything I had ever experienced.
After checking in, I met the Veteran I would be accompanying, William, and I could not have asked for a better match. William was drafted and served in the U.S. Army from February 20,
1969, to February 19, 1971. From the moment we boarded our 6:05 a.m. flight, the conversations began and never stopped. As the day unfolded, I felt as though he was imparting wisdom to me about life, the war, politics, career, and everything in between. I couldn’t help but wonder what conversations with my Pop-Pop would have been like if he had gotten to see me as an adult. I soaked in every one of William’s words, leaving me pondering. What I thought of most was his remark, “There’s a reason God gave you two ears and one mouth. Be quiet and listen.”
After landing in Washington, our day’s itinerary began at the Navy Memorial, followed by a visit to the National Mall, where we explored the World War II Memorial, the Korean War Memorial, and the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. It was clear that most of the group had been anticipating this stop. Some had excitement, others had quiet reflection, and a few had visible unease.
As I walked alongside William and several other Vietnam Veterans down the long, black, reflective wall of the memorial, I felt his earlier words of wisdom come to life. I stopped talking and simply listened to the people, the silence, and the emotion that surrounded us. All around me were different stories.
To my right, a Veteran quietly pointed to the names of his former classmates etched into the stone. To my left, a young family, a mother, a father, and two sons, stood in front of the wall. One of the boys asked, “These are all guys that died in the war?” His mother replied, “Yes, they died for our freedom. In my mind, I complimented what I thought was good parenting.
Directly in front of me, another Veteran broke down in tears, leaning his head against the wall. He couldn’t continue walking. He whispered, “This is a lot for me. I lost a lot of people… a lot of people.” Others walked by, seemingly composed, though their silence was loud. I couldn’t begin to imagine what they were thinking of reliving. Then, the stories converged as individuals with different experiences comforted one another, exchanging words on understanding and encouragement.
Throughout the day, I heard stories of the war’s horrors and of the pain that followed it, of what it meant to come home to a country that did not welcome its heroes. I learned that many Vietnam Veterans had tried to bury those memories, not out of indifference, but for their mental health.
For years, they were taunted and dismissed before the nation finally recognized that they had answered the call to duty.
In that moment, my mind flashed back to my childhood confusion over my grandfather’s silence about “the big war” that ultimately took his life. My hand instinctively went to the pocket of my shorts, where I carried his dog tag, a small piece of him that I had brought on the Honor Flight. I wondered what his reaction would have been if he had stood at the wall. Would he have opened up like some of the Veterans I saw? Or would he have quietly walked past alone?
The mood began to lift as countless people stopped to shake the hand of every Veteran who passed by, each offering a heartfelt, “Thank you for your service.” Smiles were shared. Tears were shed. This outpouring of gratitude, kindness, and compassion felt long overdue.
What stood out to me the most was the number of children in the crowd. They also reached out their hands to thank the Veterans. Once again, I silently commended their parents for teaching them respect and appreciation at a young age.
After visiting the Air Force Memorial and witnessing the Changing of the Guard Ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery, we returned to the airport for our 8:25 p.m. flight home. On the plane, William and I reflected on the day, the memories we had made, and the moments that would stay with us. I told him how much it had moved me to see so many children thanking Veterans throughout the day, as I strongly believe in teaching the next generation about patriotism and gratitude.
He nodded, then reminded me that the future is truly in our hands.. Looking serious, he said, “People don’t go out for coffee and just talk anymore, really talk. Nobody listens and asks, ‘Why? Why do you feel that way?”
Once again, he reminded me to listen more than I speak.
What I heard at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial was a sense of connection, men bonding over shared loss and finding strength in one another through grief, understanding, and brotherhood. What I heard was something different, yet equally powerful. I heard the next generation being taught about respect and what it truly means to be a Veteran.
While we can’t undo the mistakes of the past, the next generation holds the power to ensure that history does not repeat itself. Our country is divided right now. The world is louder and more opinion-driven than ever before. Too often, people focus on headlines and “what could have been,” placing blind faith in political figures they believe can save us. It’s no wonder we feel lost. Somewhere along the way, America seems to have forgotten who the real heroes are.
We’ve allowed bitterness, hostility, and division to take over, forgetting how to listen, reason, and respect one another. Yet, every single day, Veterans continue to serve our country faithfully and with courage. They are the ones who set the example of what it means to work together for something greater than ourselves.
We need to use the freedom they’ve fought to protect, for good, and never let their sacrifices, including the loss of life, be in vain. The heroes of this nation are not the politicians we argue over. They are the men and women who have given up their own freedom to defend ours.
If you are reading this, thank a Veteran for their service and do better, for yourself, others, and our everyday heroes.
