Every so often, someone looks at a veteran and says: “Thank you for your service.”

They usually smile and say: “Thank you.”

But like a lot of vets, it puts me in a sort of uncomfortable position. Why should folks offer their thanks when vets just did their duty?

I suppose it is part of our contemporary culture where many, if not most, of our fellow Americans, did not serve. Many did not even have family members or friends who put on the uniform. To some, veterans are unusual.

It has not always been this way. When I grew up, somewhere in the Dark Ages, World War II had just ended. It was common to see uniformed men and women. Many families had relatives serving overseas and military service was personal. Uncle Doc was in the Navy. Uncle Roy was somewhere in Europe.

On the day we learned it was over, I remember Mom hustling us out on the front porch and handing out pots and pans. We banged them on the railing joining with our neighbors in cheering the great news.

Soon, soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen rejoined their families. Pilots became bankers, soldiers opened small businesses and the greatest generation went to work feeding their families and coaching peewee football and baseball. The GI Bill transformed the nation enabling a whole generation to attend college and enter the middle class.

But their time in uniform, and the time we spent on the home front worrying about them, was always in the back of our mind.

It was a time of working together. Warriors in combat and supporting teams pulled together. Back home, auto factories and washing machine plants built planes. They built LSTs in Indiana cornfields, for Pete’s sake. Moms ignored grocery store shortages as common items were diverted elsewhere.

Up and down the Maine coast, shipyards large and small turned out vessels for the Navy. At BIW, they launched a destroyer every week or so. In East Boothbay, craftsmen who once turned piles of wood into gleaming custom yachts used their skills to build minesweepers – wooden-hulled warships that hunted deadly magnetic mines.

All seemed to work together for the common good.

It is different today. I wonder if it is because many of today’s grownups were raised in a different atmosphere. In the 1960s, protesters grabbed the headlines when they rallied against the Vietnam War. When the nation instituted the draft to fill up the ranks, somehow, many kids in college, or those whose parents had pull, were able to “skate,” and avoid military service.

When the nastiness of the Vietnam War ended, some returning vets, whose fathers returned to cheers, were derided and shunned.

Veterans’ organizations made up of World War II and Korean War participants, who liked to drink booze and listen to big band music, turned a blind eye to the Viet vets who grew long hair, liked rock and roll, and embraced other recreational chemicals.

Most of all, the veterans’ organizations and the popular culture branded the Viet vets as crazy misfits who had “lost” their war. At the same time, the protesters who fled to Canada to avoid service were praised. Some branded those who served, especially draftees, as suckers, whose parents were not connected enough to keep their kids at home.

Civilian and military leaders failed to level with the public and that didn’t help either.

As the Vietnam draft experience faded, the services welcomed volunteers and fewer middle class and privileged kids signed up. The great American military melting pot was diluted.

Some wondered if our youngsters would have been better off if they had enlisted in the military or performed some sort of public service project where they learned to work together to reach a common goal.

Last week, I saw a news story lamenting that few vets serve in Congress. I guess that makes some sense when you read of the Democrats battling Democrats and Republicans battling Republicans.

For some, the idea of sitting down, discussing the merits of a policy, and reaching a compromise is something akin to treason. But there is still hope. Last week, a group of old Marines who have little in common gathered at Brady’s for a luncheon.

Jim Singer, a former combat platoon leader, invited them to celebrate the 246th birthday of the Corps. He even asked a sailor to attend, but that was OK with the group, for Dr.Barclay Shepard’s surgical skills saved many wounded Marines.

It was a celebration of shared experiences in a time when they pulled together under tough circumstances. And some unknown citizen quietly thanked the old Marines for their service when he picked up the lunch check. Thank you, Mr. Unknown.

Hope lives.