He never called himself a hero.
When drafted into World War II, he never thought of not going.
He said there were plenty of times he was plenty afraid.
He hung around with pals, but he missed his family.
He never even considered the possibility he would be on the losing side, or that he'd be abroad so long.
He never complained. He never questioned. He never second-guessed.
He kept his faith and kept his sanity.
He believed in simple things, but real things. Things like good and evil, right and wrong, pain and sacrifice.
He gave it all for his country and he returned to a grateful country.
He got married and he started a family.
He was stern, but fair. Tough, but kind.
He saw life as black and white.
A battle to do good in a world where there was plenty bad.
He grew old. And he stayed old-fashioned.
Money is nice, he would say. Just being decent is nicer still.
He was not a rich man. Or a famous man. He was just my father. A veteran. Gone now. But not forgotten now.
To him and to all who gave so much, know that I'm not fit to ever be you. But I'm grateful this Veterans Day to simply say thank you.
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