They Served Too

A tribute to the sons and daughters who stood behind the uniform

Today, on Son and Daughter Day, I find myself thinking about my children.

My son.

My two daughters.

And as I think about them, I realize there is something I should have said a long time ago:

You served too.

You never raised your right hand.

You never stood in formation.

You never wore the uniform.

You never received a deployment patch, a medal, or an award for what you endured.

But you sacrificed.

And your sacrifice was part of mine.

During my years in the Army, there were five deployments, countless training exercises, long periods away from home, and more absences than I can probably remember.

I knew where I was going.

I knew why I was going.

I understood the mission.

But my children didn't get to choose any of it.

They simply had to live with it.

They had to learn what it meant when Dad was gone.

They had to understand why phone calls sometimes mattered so much.

Why a few minutes of conversation could mean everything.

Why coming home was such a big deal.

Why another goodbye could hurt even when everyone knew it wouldn't be forever.

There were birthdays.

Holidays.

School events.

Family moments.

Ordinary days that seem insignificant until you realize you missed them.

And while I was away serving my country, they were at home serving our family.

I think about my son and the story that once appeared in The Oklahoman.

The headline called him a “1-pound wonder” and told the story of a tiny child whose arrival was significant enough to make the newspaper.

Looking at that old newspaper now, I don't just see a story about a child.

I see the beginning of a life.

I see resilience.

I see a reminder that sometimes the smallest among us can carry enormous strength.

And I see a connection to the story that would unfold in the years afterward a child growing up while his father served, alongside two sisters who would experience that military life in their own ways.

Three children.

One military family.

And countless moments when service meant separation.

But this isn't just about my children.

It's about your children, too.

To the sons and daughters of veterans:

This is for you.

To the children whose parents are still wearing the uniform:

This is for you.

To the military kids who watched their parent leave for deployment:

This is for you.

To the kids who learned to recognize the sound of a parent's voice over a phone call from somewhere far away:

This is for you.

To the ones who celebrated birthdays and holidays with an empty chair at the table:

We see you.

To the ones who learned independence earlier than they should have had to:

We see you.

To the children who moved from place to place, changed schools, made new friends, and started over because orders changed:

We see you.

To the ones who smiled proudly when their parent came home, even though they didn't always understand where that parent had been or what they had experienced:

We see you.

And to the children who grew up and are now adults, carrying memories of military life that shaped who they became:

We see you, too.

Because military service doesn't happen in a vacuum.

A service member may be the one who deploys, but the family experiences the deployment.

A service member may be the one who leaves, but the family experiences the absence.

A service member may wear the uniform, but the entire family carries the weight of that uniform.

For my children, I want to say something I probably didn't say enough when you were younger:

Thank you.

Thank you for every goodbye.

Thank you for every missed moment.

Thank you for every time you had to understand that Dad couldn't be there.

Thank you for waiting.

Thank you for loving me from a distance.

Thank you for being proud of me.

And thank you for becoming the people you are today.

Because now you're adults.

And something has changed.

The children who once needed me to be there for them have become people who have been there for me.

After the military, when the uniform came off and life became a different kind of challenge, my children became pivotal pieces of my support system.

The roles changed.

Life changed.

But the bond remained.

And I realized something:

Maybe one of the greatest gifts of surviving all those years of military service wasn't what I accomplished in uniform.

Maybe it was being blessed with three children who grew through those years and are still standing beside me today.

So today, I salute my son and my two daughters.

But I also salute the millions of military connected children who have lived some version of this story.

You may never see your name on a military record.

You may never be thanked at a ceremony.

You may never receive a medal.

But your sacrifice matters.

Your story matters.

Your parent may have served the nation.

But you helped make that service possible.

You were the reason they wanted to come home.

You were the people they carried in their hearts when they were thousands of miles away.

You were the faces behind the mission.

The names behind the sacrifice.

The reason that every homecoming meant so much.

And for those of us who have worn the uniform, there is something we should never forget:

We did not serve alone.

Our families served with us.

Our spouses served with us.

And our children

our sons and daughters served too.

So on this Son and Daughter Day, to my children and to every military child who has ever watched a parent leave:

Thank you for your service.

You may not have worn the uniform.

But you carried its weight.

And if I could stand in front of every military child past and present I would tell them what I now know:

Your parent may have served the country, but you were part of the reason they could.

And to my three children:

I am proud of you.

I am grateful for you.

And I love you more than any uniform, rank, deployment, or award could ever express.

This is your salute.

You served too. 🇺🇸