My dad was a WWII vet. I have a photo album of his many photos, from home, from his time across the seas in Europe as part of a service battery in the Army. He didn’t say too much about that, only things like; going through the Italian (I think) Alps and having to stop and unhook the trailers as they went around sharp switchbacks in the road… of walking over dead soldiers… that it wasn’t the Germans who were bad (we were the descendants of German immigrants to America and the grandparents still spoke “Pennsylvania Dutch”) it was those awful Nazis… there were pics of kids on sleds in a village… of a plane that came down near camp in the night… and the worst thing? Being in the middle of the ocean on a troop ships surrounded by only other ships and endless water (now I would have loved that).
The father daughter relationship is not always perfect, but he gave me horses, the idea that it wasn’t about winning the blue ribbon but about doing your best, and being thrifty. He died old, and was honored with the flag, taps and a salute with rifles… he was but a PFC, but this tribute proved that every single service person was important and should be remembered.
Some unknown group (boy scouts???) placed flags on the graves before Memorial Day. That was a great gesture for the Greatest Generation.
For all the vets out there, thank you. And carry on.