just a quick post for the memory of those that fought, died, and work hard to keep America free.

My grandfather was a tailgunner in a B-17 and was shot down over Germany in 1944 during the last mission of The Mountaineer (as the plane was dubbed). He was a German POW for 17 months, and never really talked about it much.

and another great uncle of mine died during the invasion of Normandy. My father and sister both serve(d) in the USAF.

Thank you for your sacrifice and service, so that I could worry not about government oppression, but rather, why I can't seem to find an original copy of Farewell to the King.

I second your sentiments.

I have a great-great uncle who died well before I was born, who was permanently traumatized by trench warfare in Europe before it was widely known what combat shock and PSTD really was.

My grandfather was a lieutenant colonel in the European Theater of WW2, and is still alive. He's lived long enough, in fact, to bury his oldest son, my father, who served in Vietnam. He never saw combat, but his doctors believed he was exposed to Agent Orange nonetheless, as what finally killed him was an exotic form of cancer that he should NOT have had.

Strange ... I grew up convinced I would be drafted one day, but it seems pretty unlikely now. Perhaps it is the sacrifices of prior generations that have served to spare the subsequent ones.

A few of my uncles were in WWII, and I know that one of them was part of the first troops to liberate Auschwitz. Until the day he passed away he never spoke of the horrors he witnessed there.

My grandfather was in the cavalry during WWI, and fought in France. I still have some of his things that he gave me when I was a kid.

A school friend's father was in the Dutch Underground. He, along with a few others, were captured by the Germans and sent on a train to a concentration camp. Fortunately the train was derailed and the escaped with the help of the underground. He had some wonderful (yet frightening) stories to tell us.

One of the saddest things I've ever had to do was be a pallbearer. I've done it for 2 uncles and one aunt. They were all emotional experiences, and I did it to honor their memory, but the one uncle's funeral was the hardest.

As we stood waiting for the funeral car to open it's back door, we saw that they had draped his casket with the Flag. It was unexpected, and so was the playing of Taps and the Honor Guard rifle salute. It made us all cry, especially my one cousin who survived 2 tours in Viet Nam (and has 2 belly-buttons for his trouble).

We owe these people a debt that can never be repaid, and I always make sure I remember what the day is really about.