To anyone who has served, it’s a day to remember you and what you’ve done. So: thank you.
I often think of my grandpa and what he went through in WWII. Scrapy mexican kid from the hills of northern NM, probably never knew more than 50 people until he was drafted. He didn’t tell us a lot of stories, but I’m grateful for what he did share with us. He went through every training program the army had at the time. A couple of his friends died while doing snow training up in canada. He came home with pieces of his buddy’s watch embedded in his arm.
14 years after he returned from the war, my dad and his brother heard a pheasant outside the front door. So they got their shotgun and shot it through the old screen door. They both heard grandpa hit the floor. 14 years after the war, he had the reflexes that kept him alive.
