Some gave all. Can we give a little?
December 1967, our family was watching TV when the phone rang. It was Uncle Joe, Dad’s older brother. Mom handed Dad the phone. Dad’s eyes got wet. Looking down, in a whisper he announced, “Austin (our cousin, Dad’s nephew) was killed in Vietnam.” I was in high school; death was no stranger. Austin’s mother (our Aunt Caty) passed two years prior. I went to my grandparents' funerals. A close childhood friend died in a gun accident when he snuck out of school before the end of the day to go bird hunting. We all boarded the school bus that morning. It was surreal. My parents ...