Independence Day

There are a myriad of explanations for what freedom means - Freedom of speech, freedom to practice religion, freedom to question, freedom to express oneself. I grew up a military brat and didn't fully appreciate what my dad did until much later in life. I asked my dad about two years after our move to Germany, "Daddy, why are we here?" The summer of 1989 I had a history lesson I will never forget.

During the 5 hour drive from Frankfurt to Berlin, dad told us the story of World War II and how the country became divided. I was surprised that my Opa (grandfather) guarded Checkpoint Charlie in the 60s. I remember asking dad, "Was he on the good side or the bad side?" Dad informed us that we would have to go through three checkpoints and would only have so much time to get from one to the other. Checkpoint Alpha, at Helmstedt, and Checkpoint Bravo, at Dreilinden got us into West Berlin. Dad told us to hold up our passports in the car window and don't look directly at the soldiers guarding the gates. Needless to say, it was a somber moment driving up to Checkpoint Charlie and actually seeing the expanse of the Berlin Wall.

Barbed wire ran across the top of the twelve foot tall wall that divided the east from the west. Graffiti on the western side echoed the disdain of the German people. The other side was completely bare, except for the few darkened spots of bloodshed. There were cameras on every building, watching my every move. No one could talk to us because we were American. Dad had to wear his uniform at all times and carry a card that said "Take me to the American Embassy" in several languages, in case we ran into trouble. We had lunch at a Gasthaus and ate with aluminum forks and knives. Even the money was made out of tin or aluminum!

The buildings were drab and uninteresting. The people never smiled. Soldiers glared at us. That was the first time in my life I was afraid to be American. Dad told me we represent everything Communists hate - most of all, freedom. Our last stop was the concentration camp, Dachau. I don't need to reiterate the goings on at this horrible place. I will tell you the feeling I had was unlike any other - even at ten years old, I came to terms with my mortality. I could feel ghosts all around me, as if to say, "Please remember me."

I didn't utter a word during the drive home. All I could think about was how lucky I was to be free. I saw my dad and the military in a whole new light. I was proud to be affiliated with a group of men and women who put others before themselves. Some would say I didn't have a choice to believe that since I was born into the military. How could I think differently if that's all I knew? All I can say is that we are all shaped by our experiences. Dad chose to show me a different side, the ugly side, of history so that I could appreciate the gift of freedom. The common saying, "Freedom isn't free" weighs heavily on my soul. We all - every single one of us - pay a price.

I urge you to think about the men and women who died so that we can buy ridiculous decorations and cover ourselves and homes with the American flag. Thank a soldier, a vet, and anyone who has served their country. They didn't serve their president or their own ideals. They gave willingly of themselves for someone they don't even know. Please don't take your freedom for granted.