Veterans Day, and A Thin Gold Band.

Today I don’t think it would be right to rant or rave about the war, so I just want to mention two men. One was a young guy I knew just to say hello to at the Firehouse. His name was TJ, and he died last year in Baghdad. It was my honor to be one of the people who stood a vigil for TJ, the night before his funeral. I won’t forget that.
The other man I’m thinking of is my father. He served in WWII in Europe. My dad was a product of his generation, a child of the depression, only son among seven sisters, raised by a hard drinking and quick to anger father. Somehow, despite the fact that he was an alcoholic, my dad maintained a core of decency. He, and his generation; understood duty like me and mine never will. Those men got up every day and did what needed to be done. My dad came a long way from his roots, he was the first in his family to shake off the old racist notions of the neighborhood, he was willing to go toe to toe with his father on the subject… and I was always proud of him when he did. My dad was a difficult man in many ways, and I have more of his bad habits than good ones, but not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. I wear a thin gold wedding band on my right hand that I found in my fathers papers after he died. The ring belonged to my grandpa who wore it for over 50 years. I wear it to remind me where I come from, to remind me that change is possible, and to remind me that despite ones flaws; faith is not out of reach.