Those Who Cannot Remember the Past

Are condemned to repeat it. (George Santayana)

My Dad was a 90-day-wonder naval lieutenant on a supply ship in the Pacific.

My father-in-law was with Patton at Anzio.

My god-father was one of the Chosin Few.

My Dad's brother was bayoneted and captured at the Battle of the Bulge. He escaped from a German POW camp days before The War ended.

My mother's oldest brother joined the Army. He's the one who saved my god-father's feet from being frozen in Korea by telling him to change his socks every night, holding the sweat-soaked pair against his body so the heat would dry them in time for the next day.

My aunt's husband suffered permanent damage to his back para-trooping into Korea

My husband and brothers all won the most important lottery of all - the one that meant they didn't have to go to VietNam.


For me, Memorial Day is and always will be May 30th. (Yes, I know I'm late, but I did remember.)