Words fail me – there is, perhaps, just too much going on with today’s soldiers for me to pause and give proper tribute to the past. With the continuing battle in Afghanistan and the losses at Ft. Hood, the symbolism of 11/11 seems a bit out of place.
I can only, for now, think of my father – who joined the Marines at 17 in World War Two. And my grandfather and all his brothers, who went to serve in France during World War One. I also have in my mind’s eye the place where my father is buried – among his like, at the veteran’s cemetery. Row upon row of simple, gray blocks recording the mundane of birth and death, rank and branch of service. But then I remember the Marine who knelt before me – before the likes of me! – and handed me the flag that had draped my father’s casket…where did I earn such honor?…only in the veterans, and only in so much as I honor them.
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