COL. Martin Jeffrey Basham was born August 13, 1957, outside a small rural Tennessee town. So rural, in fact, it was only the year he was born that they paved the street he grew up on–for the first time. His parents would debate over the next 40 years about whether he was supposed to be Jeffrey Martin or Martin Jeffrey. Either way, he was Jeff. He was very intelligent. He started first grade early, and was able to graduate high school when he was sixteen years old. Some of his classmates say that he was quiet but really smart. He may have been quiet, but he was known. 

After high school he went to work in the mines. That was pretty much the only job in town, and he was fine doing that. Hard work was to be appreciated. But he wanted to join the National Guard. He was the third son. His dad had joined the Army for two years, and his oldest brother has enlisted in the Marines. Military service had some precedence in his family, but prior to Jeff, it had been a term of service, not a career. 

But Jeff had been raised to appreciate hard work and to give your service willingly. We sometimes call it Southern Hospitality, but that can sometimes be oversimplified to a warm smile and a “Bless your Heart”. What Jeff had learned to exemplify was honor. And the military would nurture and develop the seed that was planted in him by his parents. 

It’s Jeff’s understanding of honor that has been on my mind for the past ten days or so. Jeff’s youngest sibling was his only sister, and she is my mom. So I grew up hanging out at my uncle’s house and playing with my cousins when they lived nearby. And when they moved away, I would travel with my grandparents to visit them. I knew he was in the military still, but it was never that present in my mind. He was always an uncle. As we grew up, I saw him less, but our family is close. We treasure each other even when we’ve not seen each other in months or years. And I would hear Uncle Jeff was moving up the ranks from my mom, and from time to time he would return to Tennessee to serve his requisite weekend of service. But I still didn’t think much of it because he didn’t talk about his service. He was simply our uncle. 

After September 11, his military service gained more notice because his division would be mobilized and called to serve in Iraq–three times. By this point, he was giving commands, responsible for a division of soldiers beneath him. When he came home, he would share stories of his experiences. Pictures would tell the stories of his comrades as well of the Iraqi children the troops had brought gifts and school supplies for. I learned this week that at one point, his division was responsible for Iraqi detainees. He understood that the detainees had families, just as he and many of his comrades had. So he helped create a family resource center where families and children could come to the detention center and visit their family member. They even offered family portraits. He honored families, regardless of whose they were. 

What I began to realize this week was that the honor he had for his family, other people’s families, and for people in general, had no limits. And, in fact, to be willing to serve in a country’s military, one’s quality of honor must be of a higher standard. The word honor has a connotation of value, or to place a high price on something. As a second lieutenant, and later a colonel, Uncle Jeff, along with his fellow soldiers, placed a significant value on each of us Americans, and in some cases, many people of other nationalities. He had to place value on us in order to serve and protect us for 40 years. When I think of that, a simple thank you to a veteran is hardly enough. 

Honor is selfless. Otherwise it is not honor. When honoring or placing a high value on something, we could think of it as a high appraisal. And what is an appraisal but placing an estimated, actual price on something? I think of my uncle and see how he honored family and his country, and there’s enough evidence to prove that he saw our worth and chose to protect it. It would be difficult, as a soldier or a family man, to honor selectively. Especially for Uncle Jeff. By honoring Iraqi detainees as he served his country, he chose to honor the worthiness of all 320 million of us. Now, that’s a lot of honor. He chose to serve in Iraq, even though it led to a lung infection that aggravated his pre-existing black lung from the coal mines because it was his duty, and it was his honor to fulfill it. And he continued to serve for several years, even though he never fully recovered. And as he was sick and continued to lead his men and train other countries’ men, he was still honoring his family.

So, reflecting on my uncle’s life, at what point do we reach our capacity to honor? And the answer is clear, we don’t. For some, it might seem mysterious or complicated to think the we could have an infinite well of appreciation and respect that we could dredge up for a single individual, let alone for every single person we meet. Honoring must not require perfection on the giver or the recipient. So what’s our excuse?

Honor may seem like a foreign concept to some. And I learned this week that our response should be to honor those who haven’t yet figured out how to honor themselves or others. By choosing to judge them and withhold honor from a “dishonoring” person, we are limiting our ability to honor people in general, even those who deserve it the most. 

I’m well aware that I am using what is meant to be my platform for processing current events to share something very personal. Uncle Jeff passed away on February 10, and we buried him this past Friday, February 20. So this is my current event. But the lesson here is very applicable for any current event and any political pundit with a platform on which he can opine. 

I saw hundreds of people honor my uncle this week. Every time I heard one of my uncle’s men or a fellow Colonel share a story I was overwhelmed by pride for Uncle Jeff. Another noteworthy moment was seeing the pride on one of his soldiers’ faces as he shared that my uncle brought his whole division back home from their tours during Operation: Iraqi Freedom–without a scratch. They felt valued by him, and it impacted how they served and fought alongside one another. Again, these stories reminded me of the impact honor can have on individuals who dispense honor and on those who receive it. Why should we ever hold back our ability to place genuine value on someone?

Uncle Jeff may not have been perfect, despite my glowing remembrance of him, but it does not discount his service, his sacrifice, his loyalty, and his choice to serve and protect his family, his country, his men. He honored us. He honored you. Yeah, it sounds dramatic, but thousands of men and women have done the same while in service, and millions of others have exemplified honor in their civilian lives. We have a lot to learn from all of them, especially those of us who have taken it upon ourselves to share our thoughts so publicly. 

Photo credit: Erin Basham, 20 Feb 2015.