As I have done in the past I focus my Veteran’s Day post on WWI. Yesterday was the 100th anniversary of the armistice that ended that war. There have been plenty of accounts of how horrible that war was. The New Yorker just ran a fascinating piece on that armistice:
Meanwhile, to honor that memory the president* sat out the ceremony because it was raining. This of course resulted in a litany of lame excuses from his staff, a deluge of photos of his predecessors out in the rain, a couple of mic drop slams from the presidents of Canada and France, and a photo of JFK standing in the rain with Charles de Galle at an earlier anniversary.
Unlike our current president*, these two men served their countries. I don’t think I ever heard of either one avoiding service because of bone spurs.
But I digress. This is what Drumpf makes you do, go off on a tangent and forget what your point was. But mine is this was my maternal grandfather’s war. He drove an ambulance, served with pride, and refused to tell his grandsons about the horrors he saw though apparently there were plenty. I still have the flag he flew (with 48 stars), a luger he confiscated, and a partial bandoleer with the rifle cartridges. These pin me to the memory of a war that was over the year my father was born and thirty-nine years before my sheltered existence began. It was supposed to be a war that would end all wars. Well, we all know how that went.
RIP Grandpa. I will continue to honor your service and memory as long as I draw breath.