You Can't Tell a Vet Just By Looking
He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carrier didn't run out of fuel.
He is the barroom loudmouth whose behavior is outweighed in the cosmic scales by four hours of unparalleled bravery near the 38th Parallel in Korea.
She is the nurse who fought against futility in Da Nang and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years.
He is the POW who left one person and came back another.
He is the drill instructor who has never been in combat, but has saved countless lives by turning no-accounts into Marines.
He is the parade-riding legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.
He is the white-haired guy bagging groceries at the supermarket, aggravatingly slow, who helped liberate a Nazi death camp.
A vet is an ordinary and extraordinary human being — someone who offered his life's vital years in the service of his country.
He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known. We will never be able to repay the debt of gratitude we owe.
I would like to add this:
And he is my uncle who was wounded during the Normandy Landing.
He is my father-in-law who was wounded at Iwo Jima.
He is another uncle who was stationed on board the USS Missouri and witnessed the formal signing of surrender by the Japanese.
He is my fellow blogger, Guyk, and Pat Houseworthy, and The Hermit, and many others that have become my friends through this blog.
And he is my husband, who served two tours in Viet Nam, and retired after twenty years of service to our country. (Thank you, Honey..I'm very much aware of the extreme sacrifice you made, and what you had to endure)
My heartfelt gratitude to each and everyone of you for your sacrifice that has helped to keep our nation free, and truly the home of the brave.
God bless you, and God bless the USA.