Quote Originally Posted by thatguy View Post
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