It was Armistice Day at first, but in 1954, President Eisenhower made it “Veteran’s Day.”

Two years ago, as a barely a month old blogger, I posted this.

I still mean it.

I served during the Cold War, and those men who taught me my trade, were Vietnam Vets. Having lived overseas, not as a “brat,” by a civil servant’s son, I grew up with the Special Forces on Okinawa and the Sialors and Marines on Guam. The man across the street most of my beginning days was not an uncle, but he was “Uncle John” to my sisters and I. He had been a Marine in KOrea. One uncle was one of the first C-5 Galaxy navigators, but had flwon with Air-Sea REscue in HU-16s, and later I believe he was in C-141s.

They all had a piece of me knowing I wanted to serve.

I never have been in combat, or any closer than way out in the Med when Khadffi shot missiles at our F-14s, so I stand in awe, and a degree of jeasousness of those who have been there, as I will always wonder how well I had been trained.

In the grand scheme, it took each of us, and all of those who served, whether they stayed stateside the entire time, or ran down the bow ramp of an LCVP, into the surf and onto the sand.

I thank the America taxpayer on this day, for trusting me to protect them. I thank all those who, when by the stroke of fate, did end up in combat, did not shy away and did their duty, regardless of the fear.