Memorial day weekend is winding down

[thatguy]

I know most of us think about what it means while we are doing whatever we do, but please take a moment to remember WHY we get to enjoy these fun things!:usa:

Land of the free, because of the brave!

http://i152.photobucket.com/albums/s170/thomasljr/memorial-day.jpg

[Chick]

👍🇺🇸


Sent from the library

[HB Vic]

You got that right. Without these brave men and women we'd not have the freedom we enjoy today. Thank you for your service!


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[Mrs.K034]

That picture almost makes me cry. It's so true, not about the three day weekend.. No matter how nice it is, that is not what it's about. We all need to appreciate the reason we are able to do what we do.. Thank you to those that have stood up for our freedom.

[thatguy]

My grandpa is 93.
He served on a destroyer in WWII.

When I was in 2nd grade I spent a year living at his house with him and grandma, my mom and brother and sister.
We lived there while My Dad was in Korea for a year. Dad was in the Air Force, combat control.
I was not happy and was constantly acting out because I wanted my Dad to come home.
I will never forget that Memorial Day, 1969.
Grandpa woke me up early, real early.
He said I was coming with him.
He had on his Navy Dress uniform that I had only seen in pictures of him. (He can still wear it today)
His neighbor came to the door and he was in army dress.
They didn't say much and I knew to keep quiet and sit straight if you know what I mean.

We drove to the VFW. All my uncles and near every grown Man I knew in their little town was there, also in full dress, all branches.
They started with a prayer service with a Chaplin and each man took a turn at the podium, usually with a short tale of a moment in combat where they lost a friend, or were saved by a heroic action of another man. (Or Boy really, as they were all just kids more or less in the war)

My Grampa told of being on his destroyer during the end days of the war, when the Kamakazi planes were crashing into them. He lost many friends and comrades. They would take their place in the picket line and endure attacks for about 24 hours straight. Then get relief and leave for repairs and offload casualties.
The neighbor (Ted) told his story of being in the Batan death march. His squad all died, but he lived because they made him eat and drink any scrap they could obtain. He had a new kid at home, and his buddy's basically sacrificed their lives because they knew that they would not all make it and if anyone lived they thought his little boy should know his dad.

I was spellbound. I had no idea what it meant to be an American at that point.
I had never seen grown men openly cry before.
We went to a few other gatherings that day and it was the same at each.

I knew these men had all served, but I only really knew them as civilian plumbers, teachers, butchers or mechanics.
I didn't know that behind the freedom was a price tag.
I knew For real after that day.

When my dad came home for 2 weeks at Christmas he was at the end of the driveway when I got off the school bus.
I almost knocked him over running and jumping to hug him!
Never was I so proud as when all the kids on the bus got to see my dad in uniform!

All those men are gone now except grandpa. He's still kicking and sounded great on the phone today!
Grandma is 91 and the Alzheimer's has her pretty good.
God bless her she pretended to know me on the phone.

Cancer took Dad nearly 4 years ago now.

I salute all those men I met that day, and all the men they spoke about.
They ARE my freedom.

[Eli]

My grandpa is 93.
He served on a destroyer in WWII.

When I was in 2nd grade I spent a year living at his house with him and grandma, my mom and brother and sister.
We lived there while My Dad was in Korea for a year. Dad was in the Air Force, combat control.
I was not happy and was constantly acting out because I wanted my Dad to come home.
I will never forget that Memorial Day, 1969.
Grandpa woke me up early, real early.
He said I was coming with him.
He had on his Navy Dress uniform that I had only seen in pictures of him. (He can still wear it today)
His neighbor came to the door and he was in army dress.
They didn't say much and I knew to keep quiet and sit straight if you know what I mean.

We drove to the VFW. All my uncles and near every grown Man I knew in their little town was there, also in full dress, all branches.
They started with a prayer service with a Chaplin and each man took a turn at the podium, usually with a short tale of a moment in combat where they lost a friend, or were saved by a heroic action of another man. (Or Boy really, as they were all just kids more or less in the war)

My Grampa told of being on his destroyer during the end days of the war, when the Kamakazi planes were crashing into them. He lost many friends and comrades. They would take their place in the picket line and endure attacks for about 24 hours straight. Then get relief and leave for repairs and offload casualties.
The neighbor (Ted) told his story of being in the Batan death march. His squad all died, but he lived because they made him eat and drink any scrap they could obtain. He had a new kid at home, and his buddy's basically sacrificed their lives because they knew that they would not all make it and if anyone lived they thought his little boy should know his dad.

I was spellbound. I had no idea what it meant to be an American at that point.
I had never seen grown men openly cry before.
We went to a few other gatherings that day and it was the same at each.

I knew these men had all served, but I only really knew them as civilian plumbers, teachers, butchers or mechanics.
I didn't know that behind the freedom was a price tag.
I knew For real after that day.

When my dad came home for 2 weeks at Christmas he was at the end of the driveway when I got off the school bus.
I almost knocked him over running and jumping to hug him!
Never was I so proud as when all the kids on the bus got to see my dad in uniform!

All those men are gone now except grandpa. He's still kicking and sounded great on the phone today!
Grandma is 91 and the Alzheimer's has her pretty good.
God bless her she pretended to know me on the phone.

Cancer took Dad nearly 4 years ago now.

I salute all those men I met that day, and all the men they spoke about.
They ARE my freedom.

Thank you for sharing. That's a truly remarkable story.

I was born in a country where all the freedoms we are so privileged to have don't exist. Everyday I am in this beautiful country I know it's because of all the selfless people who gave the ultimate sacrifice (as well as those who continue to sacrifice) for the rest of us to enjoy our freedom. FREEdom isn't FREE!


Sent from my Bat Cave

[HB Vic]

My grandpa is 93.
He served on a destroyer in WWII.

When I was in 2nd grade I spent a year living at his house with him and grandma, my mom and brother and sister.
We lived there while My Dad was in Korea for a year. Dad was in the Air Force, combat control.
I was not happy and was constantly acting out because I wanted my Dad to come home.
I will never forget that Memorial Day, 1969.
Grandpa woke me up early, real early.
He said I was coming with him.
He had on his Navy Dress uniform that I had only seen in pictures of him. (He can still wear it today)
His neighbor came to the door and he was in army dress.
They didn't say much and I knew to keep quiet and sit straight if you know what I mean.

We drove to the VFW. All my uncles and near every grown Man I knew in their little town was there, also in full dress, all branches.
They started with a prayer service with a Chaplin and each man took a turn at the podium, usually with a short tale of a moment in combat where they lost a friend, or were saved by a heroic action of another man. (Or Boy really, as they were all just kids more or less in the war)

My Grampa told of being on his destroyer during the end days of the war, when the Kamakazi planes were crashing into them. He lost many friends and comrades. They would take their place in the picket line and endure attacks for about 24 hours straight. Then get relief and leave for repairs and offload casualties.
The neighbor (Ted) told his story of being in the Batan death march. His squad all died, but he lived because they made him eat and drink any scrap they could obtain. He had a new kid at home, and his buddy's basically sacrificed their lives because they knew that they would not all make it and if anyone lived they thought his little boy should know his dad.

I was spellbound. I had no idea what it meant to be an American at that point.
I had never seen grown men openly cry before.
We went to a few other gatherings that day and it was the same at each.

I knew these men had all served, but I only really knew them as civilian plumbers, teachers, butchers or mechanics.
I didn't know that behind the freedom was a price tag.
I knew For real after that day.

When my dad came home for 2 weeks at Christmas he was at the end of the driveway when I got off the school bus.
I almost knocked him over running and jumping to hug him!
Never was I so proud as when all the kids on the bus got to see my dad in uniform!

All those men are gone now except grandpa. He's still kicking and sounded great on the phone today!
Grandma is 91 and the Alzheimer's has her pretty good.
God bless her she pretended to know me on the phone.

Cancer took Dad nearly 4 years ago now.

I salute all those men I met that day, and all the men they spoke about.
They ARE my freedom.

Wow great story. Thank you so much for sharing. That says it all right there. Thank you again.

HB


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[thatguy]

Thank you for sharing. That's a truly remarkable story.

I was born in a country where all the freedoms we are so privileged to have don't exist. Everyday I am in this beautiful country I know it's because of all the selfless people who gave the ultimate sacrifice (as well as those who continue to sacrifice) for the rest of us to enjoy our freedom. FREEdom isn't FREE!


Sent from my Bat Cave

I actually thought about that today. I can not imagine, or even pretend to imagine life in Tehran as a child.

I believe it is Shintooo who also has an incredible story about coming to the States from the Middle East.

I had a girlfriend years ago who's Mom was a little girl in Frankfurt Germany during the carpet bombing.
Even though they were the enemy, Her stories would just send chills through you.
Her entire family died except her and her little brother. They scavenged to live as mere toddlers.

I met the Moms brother when he came to Alaska to visit my girlfriends mom. ( His sister)
He was a successful business owner in W Germany when I met him they were both around 60 YO then.

They showed me a picture of the 2 of them as kids. They had on rags, literally starving, with hands out for food.

We have it made here. We don't know what real suffering is in a war ravaged homeland.

[Eli]

I actually thought about that today. I can not imagine, or even pretend to imagine life in Tehran as a child.

I believe it is Shintooo who also has an incredible story about coming to the States from the Middle East.

I had a girlfriend years ago who's Mom was a little girl in Frankfurt Germany during the carpet bombing.
Even though they were the enemy, Her stories would just send chills through you.
Her entire family died except her and her little brother. They scavenged to live as mere toddlers.

I met the Moms brother when he came to Alaska to visit my girlfriends mom. ( His sister)
He was a successful business owner in W Germany when I met him they were both around 60 YO then.

They showed me a picture of the 2 of them as kids. They had on rags, literally starving, with hands out for food.

We have it made here. We don't know what real suffering is in a war ravaged homeland.

We really do live in a beautiful country and to think we don't live with the fear of war breaking out in our front yard. I've lived through a war literally in my front yard with the women and children hiding under the bed in the room farthest from the front of the house to avoid being hit by bullets as my father and uncles were fighting a gun battle from the roof tops. It went on for weeks as we lived in the heart of Tehran. Hearing a machine gun in a movie still triggers a vivid memory for me. It's not something you forget.

But, we wouldn't have everything we have in the U.S.A. without all of the people who fought/fight for our country. Every time I watch a debate of people complaining about how bad we have it here, I just shake my head bc I know just how great we have it! We live in an amazing country because of amazing people like your grandfather and your father. Thank your grandfather for me. I'm proud to say I have 3 cousins and a BIL who served our country and are still with us.


Sent from my Bat Cave

[thatguy]

We really do live in a beautiful country and to think we don't live with the fear of war breaking out in our front yard. I've lived through a war literally in my front yard with the women and children hiding under the bed in the room farthest from the front of the house to avoid being hit by bullets as my father and uncles were fighting a gun battle from the roof tops. It went on for weeks as we lived in the heart of Tehran. Hearing a machine gun in a movie still triggers a vivid memory for me. It's not something you forget.

But, we wouldn't have everything we have in the U.S.A. without all of the people who fought/fight for our country. Every time I watch a debate of people complaining about how bad we have it here, I just shake my head bc I know just how great we have it! We live in an amazing country because of amazing people like your grandfather and your father. Thank your grandfather for me. I'm proud to say I have 3 cousins and a BIL who served our country and are still with us.


Sent from my Bat Cave


Damn, I can't even imagine the fear.

[Paul65K]

My grandpa is 93.
He served on a destroyer in WWII.

When I was in 2nd grade I spent a year living at his house with him and grandma, my mom and brother and sister.
We lived there while My Dad was in Korea for a year. Dad was in the Air Force, combat control.
I was not happy and was constantly acting out because I wanted my Dad to come home.
I will never forget that Memorial Day, 1969.
Grandpa woke me up early, real early.
He said I was coming with him.
He had on his Navy Dress uniform that I had only seen in pictures of him. (He can still wear it today)
His neighbor came to the door and he was in army dress.
They didn't say much and I knew to keep quiet and sit straight if you know what I mean.

We drove to the VFW. All my uncles and near every grown Man I knew in their little town was there, also in full dress, all branches.
They started with a prayer service with a Chaplin and each man took a turn at the podium, usually with a short tale of a moment in combat where they lost a friend, or were saved by a heroic action of another man. (Or Boy really, as they were all just kids more or less in the war)

My Grampa told of being on his destroyer during the end days of the war, when the Kamakazi planes were crashing into them. He lost many friends and comrades. They would take their place in the picket line and endure attacks for about 24 hours straight. Then get relief and leave for repairs and offload casualties.
The neighbor (Ted) told his story of being in the Batan death march. His squad all died, but he lived because they made him eat and drink any scrap they could obtain. He had a new kid at home, and his buddy's basically sacrificed their lives because they knew that they would not all make it and if anyone lived they thought his little boy should know his dad.

I was spellbound. I had no idea what it meant to be an American at that point.
I had never seen grown men openly cry before.
We went to a few other gatherings that day and it was the same at each.

I knew these men had all served, but I only really knew them as civilian plumbers, teachers, butchers or mechanics.
I didn't know that behind the freedom was a price tag.
I knew For real after that day.

When my dad came home for 2 weeks at Christmas he was at the end of the driveway when I got off the school bus.
I almost knocked him over running and jumping to hug him!
Never was I so proud as when all the kids on the bus got to see my dad in uniform!

All those men are gone now except grandpa. He's still kicking and sounded great on the phone today!
Grandma is 91 and the Alzheimer's has her pretty good.
God bless her she pretended to know me on the phone.

Cancer took Dad nearly 4 years ago now.

I salute all those men I met that day, and all the men they spoke about.
They ARE my freedom.Thank you Tommy,

You are blessed to have had such Hero(s) among Heroes as a mentor in both your Grandfather and father........as we as a nation are so blessed to live in a country built and protected by Heroes like them.

God Bless America :thumb:

[djunkie]

I actually thought about that today. I can not imagine, or even pretend to imagine life in Tehran as a child.

I believe it is Shintooo who also has an incredible story about coming to the States from the Middle East.

I had a girlfriend years ago who's Mom was a little girl in Frankfurt Germany during the carpet bombing.
Even though they were the enemy, Her stories would just send chills through you.
Her entire family died except her and her little brother. They scavenged to live as mere toddlers.

I met the Moms brother when he came to Alaska to visit my girlfriends mom. ( His sister)
He was a successful business owner in W Germany when I met him they were both around 60 YO then.

They showed me a picture of the 2 of them as kids. They had on rags, literally starving, with hands out for food.

We have it made here. We don't know what real suffering is in a war ravaged homeland.

I have a friend born in Lebanon. Lived there till I think he was 8 or 9. The stories he and his family would tell about the bombings and the way it was is scary as hell. Truly makes you grateful for what we've got.