Seventy years ago, the world changed. The Allies fought back, and this time, eventually won. It is so sad that so many today, don't know why this day is special. I don't know enough, but what I do know awes me.
So many young boys and men who died that day.
One think I do know is about my family. I ventured to the city veterans memorial last week and got some pictures. My dad and two of his brothers served in World War II.
I don't know where my uncles were on D-Day. I'm not sure what they did in the army, although I think it was something automotive related. (Do any of my cousins know?) I do know that when their father (my grandpa) died in August of 1945, they were both still in England, and according to one of their sisters, they wanted to remember their dad the way he was, and did not return for his funeral.
Dad on the other hand was home on D-Day, or at least back in the states. Not because he hadn't joined yet, but because he had enlisted, and was severely wounded in September 1943, while serving with Darby's Rangers. He was recovering from his wounds, and would not return.
But for Uncle Don, Dad, and Uncle Howard, and all those who served in that and other conflicts, my thanks, and admiration to you all.
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