It’s a brief moment to thank, remember, and acknowledge men and women like this man:
You can’t tell from this faded and stained photo, but this man, proudly posing in his WWII uniform . . . this man who would stand with the American Army in the Battle of the Bulge . . . is the reason why I have dark hair.
(And the reason why I have really large feet and hands.)
We call him Grandpa, Papa, and Pauda in our family.
But on November 11th, we also recognize his other title: Veteran.
I don’t know every detail of what he witnessed during his months in Europe. There are things he simply won’t tell us. But I know he is brave, like thousands and thousands of other veterans and active duty personnel.
And, I know I owe him my gratitude for so much more than my glossy, dark hair.
He helped fight for a Greater Good, believing in that Greater Good so much he willingly left his quiet farming world and entered a dark place of bloodshed and violence. . . because he wasn’t willing to put his head in the sand and ignore the injustice of what was happening.
And that’s much more important than the color of my tresses.