No pony

When I was about 12 years old, I entered an essay contest for Memorial Day entitled "What Freedom Means to Me." The prize was a pony. I am sure (since the prize was a pony) that I wrote the essay of my life. Ironically, a farm kid won.

Since there's no pony this time, the pressure is off.

We're not a military family, but we are patriotic -- in the "don't tread on me" way, rather than the "I regret that I have but one life to give for my country" way. Each of us that wound up in uniform did so by a different route and for different reasons. Mine were probably the weakest; I thought it seemed like a good idea at the time. I'm more of a dove than a hawk, but it turned out to be a fine choice.

In his sermon yesterday, Father Tom -- who seems to have a special insight into the lives of military servicemen ( I think because he served as a chaplain during the Vietnam War) -- made me proud of my military service, and fearful for those in the path of danger.

(When Cassie saw this photograph she said, "Heyyyyyy; you know you like my hat.")




While doing this post, I learned that in spite of having many pleasant memories, I have more photographs of friends in uniform than of me (and none of that dreadful shot from basic training) . After hunting for ages, this photo -- in fatigues and fatigued (I'd just come off my third midnight-to-noon shift of a 3 on, 3 off schedule) is one of the few I could come up with.






Bob, I really loved the ribbons on your 2005 photo, but it couldn't win over the smile in this photo.

















So I wish us all a peaceful Memorial Day.