A Veterans Day Reflection — John Eagleton
November 11, 2026 | Approximately 5 minutes
Good morning, and happy Veterans Day.
This morning, I was reading an article in The New York Times about the families of American service members who have died in the war with Iran.
And I found myself thinking about my own family.
My father served in the United States Navy during World War II and Korea.
I served in the Navy during the 1970s, including aboard the USS Ranger in the Pacific.
And today, my son serves in the United States military.
Three generations.
Three very different periods in American history.
And one common thread: service to our country.
Now, I’ve been thinking about what that actually means.
Because when people talk about veterans, they often talk about sacrifice, courage, patriotism, and the willingness to die for your country.
And that’s all well and good.
But I want to tell you something about what it’s actually like to serve.
You don’t wake up every morning thinking about dying for your country.
You wake up thinking about doing your job.
You’ve got responsibilities. You’ve got a mission. You’ve got people depending on you.
And you get up, put on your uniform, and go to work.
That’s it.
When I was in the Navy, we found ourselves in some dangerous situations.
And you know what I was thinking about?
Surviving.
That’s it.
Not the American flag.
Not some grand philosophical question about freedom and democracy.
Not whether somebody was going to build a monument to me someday.
I was thinking about getting through the situation alive.
And making sure the people around me did, too.
Because that’s what you do.
You focus on the task at hand.
You trust your training.
You trust the people serving alongside you.
And perhaps most importantly, you trust the people giving the orders.
And that’s where I want to take this conversation today.
Because something has changed.
Not about the men and women serving in our military.
I have enormous respect for them.
But about my confidence in the people making the decisions.
Today, my son is serving during a period of tremendous uncertainty in the Middle East.
And I’m concerned.
I’m concerned because I question the judgment of our commander in chief.
I’m concerned about the decisions being made in Washington.
And I’m concerned about the possibility that my son, or somebody else’s son or daughter, could pay the ultimate price for those decisions.
Now, some people might say, “Well, John, that’s what they signed up for.”
And you know what?
They’re right.
At least in part.
When you volunteer to serve in the United States military, you accept the possibility that you could lose your life.
That’s part of the deal.
My father accepted it.
I accepted it.
And my son accepts it today.
But here’s the part we don’t talk about enough.
Accepting the risk of military service does not mean accepting irresponsible leadership.
Those are two very different things.
When a young man or woman raises their right hand and takes the oath, they’re making an extraordinary commitment.
They’re promising to defend the Constitution of the United States.
They’re agreeing to follow lawful orders.
And they’re placing their lives in the hands of people they may never meet.
Think about that for a moment.
An 18-year-old kid from Greensboro, North Carolina, might find himself halfway around the world, in a situation he never imagined, carrying out orders that originated in Washington, D.C.
He doesn’t get to sit in the Oval Office and debate foreign policy.
He doesn’t get to decide whether the intelligence is accurate.
He doesn’t get to determine whether the mission is worth the risk.
His job is to carry out his lawful orders, protect the people around him, and come home alive.
And that creates an enormous responsibility for the people at the top.
Because every military decision has a human consequence.
Which brings me back to the article I read this morning.
It tells the stories of three families who have lost loved ones in the war with Iran.
One father lost his only son.
One young mother lost her husband, leaving their children without their father.
And another family lost their 31-year-old daughter, an accomplished Air Force pilot who had spent her career inspiring other young people.
These weren’t statistics.
They weren’t numbers on a Pentagon briefing.
They were human beings.
They had dreams.
They had plans.
They had families who loved them.
And they had lives waiting for them when they came home.
Except they didn’t come home.
One father in the article said something that stopped me in my tracks.
He said he was proud of his son’s service.
Proud of his accomplishments.
Proud of everything he had achieved.
But then he said something else.
He said he would rather have his son.
And as a father, I understand that.
Because all the medals, ceremonies, flags, and speeches in the world cannot replace a child.
You can be proud of your son’s service.
You can honor his sacrifice.
You can believe deeply in your country.
And still question whether the decisions that led to his death were necessary.
Those feelings are not contradictory.
They’re human.
And I think that’s something America needs to understand right now.
Patriotism is not blind obedience.
Supporting our troops does not mean supporting every war.
Respecting the presidency does not mean agreeing with every presidential decision.
And questioning our government’s actions does not make someone unpatriotic.
In fact, asking difficult questions about the use of military force is part of our responsibility as citizens.
Because here’s what I believe.
If we’re going to ask young Americans to put their lives on the line, we owe them something in return.
We owe them competent leadership.
We owe them clear objectives.
We owe them honesty about why they’re being sent into danger.
And we owe them a government that understands that military force should never be used casually.
Every decision to send Americans into combat should be made with the full understanding that somebody’s child may never come home.
And that brings me to something else.
Today, across America, there will be parades.
There will be marching bands.
There will be flags waving and wreaths laid at memorials.
Politicians will stand behind podiums and thank our veterans for their service.
And that’s wonderful.
But I would ask those politicians to do something more.
Don’t just thank us.
Honor the trust we placed in you.
Because when I served, I trusted my country.
My father trusted his country.
And today, my son is trusting his country.
That’s three generations of my family placing something extraordinarily precious in the hands of our government.
Our lives.
And the lives of the people we love.
So on this Veterans Day, I want to honor every American who has worn the uniform.
Those who served in peacetime.
Those who served in combat.
Those who came home.
And those who didn’t.
I also want to honor the families.
The mothers and fathers.
The husbands and wives.
The children who grow up with an empty chair at the dinner table.
Because their sacrifice doesn’t end when the military ceremony is over.
It continues every single day.
And finally, I want to say something to the men and women serving right now.
I know what your days are like.
You’re not sitting around thinking about being heroes.
You’re doing your jobs.
You’re looking after each other.
You’re completing your missions.
And you’re hoping to get home.
That’s what I did.
That’s what my father did.
And that’s what my son is doing today.
And my hope is that every one of you comes home safely.
Because at the end of the day, that’s what matters.
Not the speeches.
Not the parades.
Not the politics.
The people.
We accepted the risks of serving our country.
Now our country must accept the responsibility of leading us wisely.
Happy Veterans Day.
And to everyone who has served, thank you.
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