Cool video of B17 flying out of Renton, Wa over the Cascades

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One of the best parts of my job (I work for the VA), is being able to take care of the men and women that have served our country. Every once in a while, I am lucky enough to get a story or two out of the few remaining WWII guys. I had visited a small air museum in Colorado Springs where they have a beautiful P-38 on display. A couple of weeks later, I had a Vet who I found out piloted P-38's during the war and I showed him the photos on my phone. I could see the flood of memories come across his face, and it was a truly amazing moment in both our day.

There will NEVER be another generation of men and women like that one.

 
I agree. At dad's funeral, my cousin Steve stood up to speak for a couple moments. He said that exact same thing. There will never be another generation like that one. I'll have to ad-lib a little, I don't remember it all, but it went something like this: Guys were lining up around the block at recruitment centers, begging for a chance to serve. Kids were lying about their age and in dad's case, their nationality. Some sadly even committed suicide because they were refused for oddball medical issues. Dad, like so many other young recruits, grew up in the Great Depression. His father's garden (actually a very small farm) was a huge part of the family's food source, and all the kids were required to do their share of the chores each day. Many came from huge families, another custom of that day, and never had things like telephones, an indoor bathroom, a phone, or a spare dime. They had no credit, no job, no food, no hope. But they believed in an America that most of their lives had given them nothing but unemployment and going hungry. They believed in this dream of freedom so much that they were willing to fight for it. And fight they did. Young kids fresh out of high school (many never even graduated: had to quit early to work the farm...) going off to war to fight an enemy that outnumbered them, were better trained, better equipped and 10 thousand miles away. And many never came home. Americans never asked for any praise, any thanks, or any money from any of the countries we saved. All we did ask for was a small plot of land big enough to bury those brave souls that gave their all for the freedom many countries enjoy today.

You could have heard a pin drop at that funeral when cousin Steve sat down.

Even as a small boy, I was always proud that my dad fought for this country and to this day I have an appreciation for anybody that puts on that uniform.

If there was one thing I wish I could go back and change, it would be the day the USAA insurance denied my dad the opportunity to purchase insurance from them because they said he did not qualify as a veteran according to their standards... something about the amount of time he served. How sad.

 
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It's the stories like this that are a big part of why I sign up and ride Tour of Honor each year. The memorials I've seen dedicated to these men and women not just from WWII but from all wars and other forms of service to our country and their fellow man that help give me a little more insight and appreciation of just how good we all have it to live here. My father served in WWII and would never talk about any of it. I wish he'd opened up at least a little bit while he was here.

 
My uncle, who was to become a brother-in-law to dad, fought in WW2 as well. He was so excited when he found out he was coming home. On the ship on the way back, he was having what he thought were some terrible stomach pains. Someone checked him out and failed to diagnose and/or treat his acute appendicitis. He died on that ship en route to America. What a shame to survive all the horrors of war only to die like that. I never got to meet Uncle Dominic Lancelotte. I wasn't born until 10 years later. But I'll always remember his story.

 
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