The sixth graders stood in a rough line, like at their first dance, uncertain about approaching. Each held an envelope or sheet of paper. One, a boy I recognized as a friend of my son, came up to me. I put down my napkin and stood to face him.

"Thank you for your service."

He extended his hand. I shook it warmly. "You're welcome." He handed me his envelope and backed away.

He wasn't sure how to show his appreciation, but I think he nailed it.

Another boy approached. "Thank you for your service." Another envelope. Then three more boys. The girls, for some reason, chose other veterans at that breakfast, but every vet was thanked, every student completed their mission.

Here's what not to say when thanking a vet: "I know what you went through." No, you don't. Maybe I was injured. Maybe I killed people. Maybe I fought boredom while standing guard. Maybe I watched friends die.

Almost certainly I prepared myself mentally, physically, spiritually, to kill or be killed. That takes its toll. The culture I bunked with was toxic masculinity. Military thinking pervades my personality, even if it's not clearly on display.

Thirty years later I'm still unpacking what that did to me, how it affects my relationships with the women in my life, with my kids, with the team I lead, with my boss. It shaped me socially in ways that make it hard for me to maintain male friendships. I lost some hearing. Too often I'm on guard.

My time in uniform shaped my views on discipline, honor, authority, accountability, respect, and discomfort. Shaped, not honed. Not all the shaping was for the better.

I never saw action. My experience was nothing compared to those who have. But I carry scars, too, ones I feel every day.

Here's something you can ask, if you want: "May I ask you about your time in uniform?" They might say no. If they say yes, then ask about the positives. "What was something cool you saw?" "What was something you liked about it?" "What did you specialize in doing?" Then just listen. Let them talk, if they can.

Don't ask if they killed anyone. Just don't. If the answer is no, you don't get your voyeuristic thrill and you might embarrass them. If the answer is yes, their relationship with that fact is complicated, and not something discussed casually.

I left the veterans breakfast, fighting back tears. I don't know why I wanted to cry. Feeling raw, I put those envelopes aside for a couple of days before I read the notes within. Each was clumsy, but each boy seemed to understand a little of what I did and why I did it. My autistic son's note thanked me for defending him being able to play Mario Kart. His understanding of my goals was incomplete, but not wrong.