Happy Veteran's Day

It was 1960. He was 13, and my birth made him an uncle. I've heard he took great pride in being an uncle. When I visited my grandparents, he always wanted to take care of me.

I remember a couple of Christmases at my grandparents, with him there. One Christmas Eve, he went out for awhile, and while he was gone, Santa came to visit. It was too bad he missed Santa. . .

One night when I was five years old, my parents woke me up to say good-bye to him. Uncle Gary was going to the Army the next day.

I know he got to come home at least once during his two-year stint in Vietnam. It was the week before Easter, and I was shocked to see Easter Baskets for my brother and I. I asked my grandmother why the Easter Bunny came early. My grandmother replied that she had colored the eggs, so we could celebrate Easter while Uncle Gary was home. "Grandma!" I said, "You do a better job than the Easter Bunny!"

A couple of months before he was to come home, our phone rang. I remember my parents crying and telling me. . . Uncle Gary was dead. He was 20 years old. I was 7.

I'm sure I'd been told this, but I didn't remember, and so when I heard this from my brother a few days ago, it was news. . . Uncle Gary died saving the life of a friend. He was behind a boulder, his friend was wounded, and Uncle Gary ran out from safety to help his friend. The friend survived; he didn't.

The picture is the last one he sent my grandparents before he was killed. He is slightly older in this picture than my son is now. I look at that smile, and I understand why relatives used to say that my brother looked like his uncle. (My brother named his son after Uncle Gary.)

Thank you, Uncle Gary. I'm sorry you didn't get to marry, have children (who would have been my cousins), have a career, have grandchildren.

Thank you to everyone who has served or is serving in the armed forces, and thank you to the families who wait at home. Our freedom truly is not free. . . it is paid for by all of you heroes.