Jack of Harts

We celebrated Veterans Day this week. Armistice Day in the rest of the world. We remember those who fought. We remember those who served. We remember those who signed their named on the check that could be cashed at any time, without warning. We remember our Veterans.

My great uncle Dean served in World War II. He came home and proposed to the girl he’d written letters to for years. My Uncle Ben retired from the Navy a few years ago after over twenty years in service. My Uncle Duane joined the Navy, then switched to the Army and fought in Desert Storm. My cousin John served in the Air Force. My stepmother Rose served as a Marine. My cousin Dylan is in the Navy right now. I can’t count the second or third cousins or uncles who have served in one war or another over the years.

I am surrounded by those who served. I grew up looking up to them. I grew up asking questions that I probably shouldn’t have, but they always answered them as good as they could. I never served. I have never known that world. But I have touched it, and I will ever remember those who lived it.

And as Patton once said, I will “thank God that such men lived.”