I’m a police officer from the small town of Mount Vernon, Alabama. On most days, my duty is to protect and serve my community—to show up when people need help, to keep peace on our streets, and to be a symbol of safety and order.
But today was different.
Today, I wasn’t responding to a call or patrolling a neighborhood. I wasn’t writing a report or directing traffic. I was standing still—at attention—as the funeral procession of a man I’d never met slowly entered the Alabama State Veterans Memorial Cemetery in Spanish Fort.
His name was Robert Lee Serling.
He was 100 years old when he passed away. A World War II veteran. A soldier who had once fought in the Pacific, over half a century ago, in a time of unimaginable hardship and sacrifice. He wasn’t famous. There wouldn’t be headlines or massive ceremonies in his honor. But to me—and to so many others like me—he was a hero.
You see, I come from a small town too. And I’ve worn a uniform long enough to know what it means to serve. Though my uniform is different from the one Robert wore, the spirit behind it—the sense of duty, the willingness to stand between danger and those we protect—is the same.
So, I wanted to do something. Something simple. Something respectful.
As his hearse made its way toward the final resting place, I parked my police cruiser off to the side and stepped out. I stood silently beside it. No words. No grand gestures. Just presence.
It was my way of saying thank you.
Thank you for your courage.
Thank you for your service.
Thank you for walking so we could stand free.
In a world that often moves too fast and forgets too quickly, I believe it matters to stop and remember. To honor those who quietly carried the weight of history on their shoulders. Men like Robert Lee Serling, who gave their youth, their strength, their years—for the sake of people they would never know.
I didn’t know him personally, but I know the kind of man he must have been. Brave. Humble. Committed. He came from a generation that didn’t ask for recognition. And so, the least I could do was give him mine.
From one uniformed servant to another:
Rest in peace, soldier. You are not forgotten. ❤️
