Don't forget that

  I was reminded this morning that it was D-day. June 6, 1944, the largest invasion every to take place. Thousands lost their lives. Of the 73,000 Americans to hit that beach fewer than 3000 are alive today. The youngest of them would be ninety or so. Two thousand five hundred and one of those Americans died on that beach with twice that many being wounded. We have all seen the movies, heard the testimonials, heard the tails of bravery and sacrifice. Still, I am left with the sense of horror those men had to face. I like to believe I could have been one of them, that I would have that courage, that commitment, but I have doubts. It's far easier to walk the parade ground, waving the wave and pontificating on duty and honor than to actually do that. Whatever dangers I sailed into during my naval career, whatever enemy I faced is certainly laughable when compared to that day. It was on that day that the moniker The Greatest Generation was born, earned by blood and sacrifice.

 I have never known personally anyone that stormed that beach on that day. There is a good possibility that I did walk among them when I was a child. I certainly knew many that were veterans of WW2. My father, my uncles, neighbors, and the guy at the grocery store. In my experience those men spoke little of the war, the battles and the trauma. Perhaps that is what they discussed in those smoke-filled VFW and American Legion halls of the 1960's. I know little of that, just hearsay. But I do remember those men marching proudly in the parades, their uniforms pressed, heads held high, old warriors to me, marching with old memories. I remember poppies being sold to remember the WW1 veterans efforts being made to remember them. Today no WW1 veteran survives. The last one died in 2012, a lady named Florence at the age of 110, a British civilian that served with the allied forces. 

 Frank Buckles was the last American veteran of that war to pass. He died in 2011 also 110 years old. There war is all but forgotten now, the memories are fading fast. How many under the age of ten would know the significance of the poppies today? My guess is very few, I can say for certain I knew that at that age, everyone knew that at that age. In twenty years will any survivor of WW2 still be alive? If history is a guide that answer has to be no. In fact, today those veterans are celebrated as "ancient" warriors, given the special significance of just being old. Heroes one and all, whether they stormed the beach at Normandy or were a desk clerk that never saw combat.

 Such is the way of wars and time. The tales of combat, of strife, and of victory. History is indeed written by the victors and what will be remembered. The cause is often forgotten, the reasons lost to time. The victors will present the evidence of their just cause and the necessity for such action to have been taken. The defeated will cry about injustice. That is the nature of man. But what should never be forgotten is that it is a combination of individual actions that make it all happen. Armies are led by generals but fought by the privates! On days like this, days that mark and commemorate the accomplishments, the victories of those past warriors, I am left questioning myself. I stand in reverence and indeed a sense of awe. Setting aside all the politics of war, all the rhetoric, the beating of the drums, the swell of patriotism and pride, it takes the individual to go forth into that battle. And that is what is to be remembered! Don't forget that!