I always forget that my dad was a veteran. Mom told me about how excited Dad was to move to Oklahoma so he could buy himself a real cowboy hat and I didn’t think about where they were moving from. Dad was done with the Air Force and they were moving to Oklahoma so Dad could work on airplanes, what he was trained to do. He rarely talked about his time in the service. When he did, it was always the silly antics that he and his buddies got into. Mostly he talked about being stationed in the upper peninsula of Michigan and how great the camping was up there. My dad was on base and on call during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He said nothing about any of it or how Russian migs kept flying into US airspace. Apparently it was pretty tense. Dad never mentioned it.

I never think of J as being a Veteran. He didn’t live long enough to be a Veteran. Veterans are middle aged or old. J is frozen in my memory at age 25, forever 25. My brother recently acquired J’s Jeep and we rode around in it over the weekend, windows off, wind wiping through our hair. I had not ridden in that Jeep since the time my brother fell off the roof of his house. I was at the Flea Market with Dad and Katrina was there. Randy had managed to crawl inside the house to call her. Dad took one look at Katrina’s face and turned to me and said “GO WITH HER!” Well, of course. I hopped in Katrina’s car and then I helped lug my brother to the emergency room. Randy ended up being fine, just bruised. Miraculously, he had not broken anything. J and his wife Melissa showed up at the hospital and it was J who took me back to the Flea Market to get my car. J drove very much like my brother drives, fast and a little bit recklessly. I caught J’s wicked grin in the rear view mirror as he looked back at me in the backseat, bouncing around. Then we both started laughing. I knew he was going out of his way to hit all of the bumps.

My Pepaw was a Veteran. Heck, even Chris was a Veteran. I am the granddaughter, daughter, wife and an aunt of Veterans. This morning, Katrina sent me a voucher that gets me into any National Park for free for the rest of my life. When I questioned her, she said “You are a Gold Star Aunt.” I replied “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I feel deserving.” She responded with “I know, but you never take advantage and this is one area where you could really use it.” She’s right. I don’t have a Gold Star sticker on my car. My Gold Star pin is stored securely in my jewelry box. Chris and I didn’t even take advantage of Veteran loans for buying a house. I so easily forget that supporting our Veterans also means supporting the families of Veterans. I may not have served, but I supported those who did and I have sacrificed. So, maybe…just maybe…I deserve this one thing. I think I know now just exactly how to stage my In His Shoes photo project idea I have for J’s combat boots.

To all of our Veterans and families of Veterans, thank you for your service and the sacrifices you have made for this country.