Veteran's Day, 2011...

A few musings...

First, I would like to dedicate this post to current veterans of the war on terror, including my son, Doug:



Going back to Vietnam, I would like to thank my friend Lonnie from my forum home, who wrote the following poem:

ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE, ANOTHER WAR

We are old men now, graying, grandparents,
those of us who are still alive.

We are black and white and yellow and red
and every shade in between
We are crippled, some in body, some in mind,
all in soul
We bled and we died and we came home where
we bled and died some more
We came home to an indifferent
and uncaring nation
And we left more than blood
in a far and distant land

We are old men now, graying, grandparents
those of us who are still alive.

We watch our sons, our daughters return
from yet another far and distant land
We watch and weep, weep bitter tears
for a generation, a youth lost
But also tears of joy, tears for a nation,
a new beginning, tears for yellow ribbons
on the Central Boulevards of Hometown, USA

It was a long time coming, our welcome home
Through misty, half-closed eyes, we remember,
and imagine, imagine we see our own names,
just a faint imprint, a ghost-like image,
but our own names on those signs

We see the names and the ribbons
on the Central Boulevards of Hometown, USA
and we remember another time,
another place, another war.

We are old men now, graying, grandparents
those of us who are still alive.

Lonnie Henderson
May 29, 1991

With respect to the Korean war, I'd like to honor my Uncle; Gerard Gravel. My father, Leo Pusateri, Sr., served during World War II; and my grandfather, Tony Pusateri, served in World War I.

As a member of the Patriot Guard, I had the honor last Sunday of standing in the flag line of a Veteran's parade at the local V.A.

I stood there, flag in hand, in awe and tears, as Veterans from all walks of life, from WWII to Korea, to Vietnam, to the current wars, walked, rode in vehicles, and/or were pushed in wheelchairs. I shed tears as Blue Star mothers, military wives, and their children and grandchildren walked with pictures of their soldiers and homemade posters in hand.

When all had finally passed, it was the Patriot Guards' turn to walk in the parade. I stood there, flag in hand, and watched as my Patriot Guard friends (most of whom were veterans) assembled to walk the route. One of them turned to me, and asked, "Aren't you gonna walk?" I told him, "Sir, I never wore a uniform. I wouldn't feel right." He replied, "You go ahead and walk with us. It's an honor."

So I walked the route, in the company of heroes.

An honor, indeed.