So its Veterans Day (or Armistice Day if you live in a portion of the world where it is still okay to use fantastic vocabulary), or at least it is in this corner of the blogosphere (in other corners today is the birthday of a certain little girl, who is sadly gone, incase you happen to live under a rock). I sat down to think about what this meant to me and two thoughts came to mind.
The first is the story of why my Grandfather's father originally came to America. You see back in the 19-teens it was a bit dicey over in Europe and, not wanting to get drafted into the Italian army, O, as he is actually known among family, came over with his brother, settled in New York City, opened a music store and had a family. My family, as I know it exists because two men didn't want to be veterans.
The second thought was of a friend of mine from college. He is a United States Marine and spent last year in Iraq. Right now he is in Virginia and is preparing to get married (a mission which might prove even more dangerous than his tour, were not his fiancee a charming drop of wonderful). He is a good man who served his country proudly (and continues to do so stateside) and he is proud to be a veteran.
And to me, the combination of those two stories is what Veterans Day is really about. We honor those who proudly do what so many of us are so adamantly not willing to do.