A matter of perspective

I’m a ‘member’ of one of those reunion sites, in this case dedicated to guys who’ve served aboard U.S.S. Long Beach. They have these sites for just about every “former military experience” you can name.

I signed up for the site a couple years ago and have received updates every now and again. I haven’t been active for whatever reason. By which I mean, I’ve questioned how welcome I would be in the company of “real” veterans, considering that I eventually left the service as a conscientious objector.

Today, I received one of their notification e-mails – “You might know this person” - and the name was that of a guy I’d wondered about all this time. So I went ahead and signed on, after first having them send me a new password since mine had retreated from the memory banks from disuse, and the next thing I knew I was scanning the names of former shipmates.

Hey, I remember this guy! I stood Shore Patrol with him in Subic a few times! And this guy used to stand Throttleman for GQ… I played chess with this guy, didn’t I? The names – McFeeley, Boone, Rankin – bring forth a series of nods and “Oh, yeahs.”  

Then, I started reading the comments they’d posted and I was amazed at how many of them have changed their views over the years. “I remember how much we bitched but now it’s all good memories.” And the one guy who posted an apology to anyone he might have hurt because he recalled being something of a jerk in those days.

As I read the words of these now-middle-aged men with whom I’d once been young, I realized how many of us recall ourselves as being the imperfect one in the bunch.

Truth be told, we were all imperfect. We were young and therefore, somewhat stupid. And we’ve mostly grown and become better versions of ourselves.

It was reassuring to find I’m not the only one who wishes he’d known then what he knows now. And disconcerting to find how many of these guys didn’t know how important they’d been to my own maturation. To our maturation as a group.

It turns out many of us question our inclusion in the ranks of our former peer groups.  It’s likely the same for vets and former high school friends and the gang from the old neighborhood.

 I suppose that’s the way of things.