Veteran's Day

My father was a Marine. He and two of his friends lied about their ages, so they could enlist.

This was just before World War Two.

My father was serving at Pearl Harbor when that happened. He once (only once) spoke of what it felt like when the bombs fell and everyone was blown into the water.

Later, he was serving at Guadalcanal when that happened. He never spoke of it, except to give me his copy of Guadalcanal Diary, which was inscribed by every member of his platoon. Before he handed it to me, he made me promise never to read it. I kept both the book and the promise to this day.

I was named after one of his two friends, the one who survived the Bataan Death March. I never found out what happened to the third friend, but I suspect he didn't survive the war.

Today, I remember them all, with respect.