For the first time in a couple of years, I'll be out of town this weekend, and will not be able to attend services at the nearby National Cemetery. (Click here for more of my Veterans Day and Memorial Day snapshots.) It feels a little strange, as I've made a point of visiting most every year since I've lived here.
I'm not military, btw (and not a wannabee, either). The closest I ever got to military service was a few summers mowing the grass of a family friend, a retired Army major, who had been a rifleman in France during WWII. He was an interesting man. He was always talking about old war stories, and he taught me to shoot. In fact, the only time I've ever fired guns was under his tutelage, as a teen. He was a rather lonely man, I thought. He had a couple of failed marriages under his belt, a son that lived on the other side of the continent, and a half-sister whom he saw infrequently. Towards the end of his life I impulsively bought him this book, A Day In The Life. He appreciated it, and died some months later--so I was gratified to have been able to give him that token of my esteem, while he was alive to receive it.
So spare a thought for the fallen, this holiday.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for stopping by! Please keep your comments civil and on-topic. Spammage will be cheerfully removed.