Veterans Day

From the time I could hold a paint brush - probably 1951 - I was doing my part to honor veterans. A week before the holiday, Dad and I went to the local cemetery to paint markers, and install Old Glory in each, on the graves of veterans of the Great War who had been member of my dad's lodge. The lodge had a seventy year history in my small town; there were scores of holders to paint. My instructions were simple: paint carefully, leave no spatters, paint EVERY marker. The worst offense, by far, was missing a marker, but Dad made sure that didn't happen.




On Veterans Day proper, there was a brief service from atop a small memorial building. At its conclusion, the crowds descended from the hilltop cemetery to either watch or march in what seemed like an endless parade down Main Street. It was straight out of a Norman Rockwell illustration: flags, bands, fire trucks, politicians, the ladies' auxiliary, the soldiers. A most impressive event.

Ninety years ago, at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the year 1918, World War I - the Great War - came to an end with the signing of the Armistice Treaty by the Allied forces and Germany. For the next 34 years, Armistice Day honored the service of veterans of that war. In 1954, Armistice Day became Veterans Day and its scope was expanded to honor all American veterans.

I am not a veteran. I'll never experience how military service shapes a person inside. But I know the cost of freedom is not free. Every veteran has paid a price that enables us to enjoy life in this bountiful nation. I offer up to all of them my sincerest admiration and thanks on this day.