Soldier, acknowledge our salute. I know you will. You’ll slam that foot down, like a dog pissing on a tree, this is your ground; you won’t move. And as you raise that hand with the same conviction upon which you slam it against your enemies, we will know that you are resolute.
But I want to see into your eyes. I want to see if your convictions are betrayed by your thoughts. Because I worry that we have made you a caricature: the depth of a person is marked by the contradictions within them. I worry that it is too easy to portray you as the valiant hero, the resolute patriot, the loving father. There has to be more to you. And though you were equal to your deeds when you did them, I wonder if you could endure this image after. You cannot be defined by your actions, and if these actions are what we remember, then we do not know you.
Soldier, don’t stand for this misrepresentation: leave. Rip through the foundations that hold you down, tear open the tomb that entrenches you. As the material flakes away, we will be reminded of you shaking in the trenches, cold and wet, laden with the burden of self-preservation. But you overcame that burden- how else would you have ended up here?
Overcome another: and as you rise above the material we once thought you were, you give us hope. Because when life kicks me in the teeth, I need to know that I can rise above it. So be the man that meets triumph and disaster and treats them as impostors. Be more than what happened to you; teach us that we are more than what has happened to us. And when our values are strewn into the stream of life, leave us to fish out some new ones.
Soldier, look down. Let us know what you see; because I see the same things differently all the time. And it’s really hard to be grounded when you can’t find the spot you were standing in yesterday. This river keeps flowing and most of our dads never taught us to fish. So show us where to go.
I think you do that. Your statue was never meant to represent one thing, one position, one person. You stand as a springboard for each of us, to our own little spot. That might be to a conversation with an old relative, or an exploration into our own convictions, or an emblem of a broader notion.
Regardless, you stand resolute. Your stance is firm. Your posture is sure.
Your eyes: a mirror into ourselves.
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Letter To An Unknown Soldier
Short StoryThis story is a collection of short letters that have been submitted to the Unknown Soldier project. The project is inspired by a statue that stands on Platform 1 of Paddington Station in London, representing all the millions of soldiers who died –...
