Reader TTS

I will never forget the first time I met Travis Mills. It was 2012 at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center just outside Washington, D.C. Travis, a U.S. Army staff sergeant had just

been in Afghanistan for his third deployment when he removed his backpack, put it down on the ground and set off an improvised explosive device (IED).  Travis had lost both legs above the

knee, his right arm below the shoulder and his left arm below the elbow, leaving him a quadruple amputee. Yet, when I first met him, he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself. His sense of humor

was engaging, and I was humbled to be with him. A wonderful, inspirational guy, he was pressing on in his recovery, taking each day as it came, determined to live a good and meaningful life.

In the 11 years since then, Travis has made good on his promise. His is the story that we want for everybody who is wounded while serving our country. We want them to be OK, and we pledge

to walk alongside them to ease their burdens.  On Aug. 7, National Purple Heart Day, we honor the brave service men and women like Travis Mills who have been wounded in the line of duty. And

we redouble our efforts to give everything possible back, so their journey forward is filled with support and hope.  The story of Travis Mills is similar to that of Lt. Dan Taylor, the

fictional hero I played in the 1994 movie Forrest Gump. It was a role that changed my life. I got so many letters from Vietnam veterans and people reaching out to me who were moved by the

story of Lt. Dan. Many from service members who had been wounded in combat. The Disabled American Veterans organization contacted me about six weeks after that movie opened, inviting me to

come to the group’s national convention in Chicago. When I walked out on stage, there were more than 2,000 wounded veterans in the audience, going back all the way to World War II. They were

applauding me for playing Lt. Dan, and I was presented with an award for my “hard work” on the film. Hard work? Compared with what the people in that ballroom had endured, my job wasn’t

close to that. All I’d done was say my lines. Hard work was being far from home, up to your elbows in dust and facing the enemy. Hard work was losing a limb, or worse, and having to carry

on. That day in Chicago galvanized my support for our wounded. I had seen the power of what playing that character had done for people. Lt. Dan was more than a movie part. He resonated

profoundly with the community that I have dedicated much of my life to trying to help.