My first memory of my father was in 1945 when I was not quite 3 years old.  He and my uncle Veral came into my bedroom with my mother to awaken me early in the morning.  My mother and older sister and I were living with my grandparents at the time. I still remember awakening to see two men in uniform and realizing they must be my father and my Uncle Veral.  My uncle had spent World War II in Japanese prison camps, having survived the Bataan Death March.  When liberated after Japan surrendered on August 14th, he weighed only 98 lbs. He and my father, also a Marine, were re joined in Hawaii where Veral had to undergo medical treatment and regain his strength before coming home to Springfield, Oregon with my father.

As they stood at the end of my bed, my father asked me if I knew which one was my Dad. I still remember the moment and the sinking thought that it would be embarrassing to choose the wrong one, and sure enough, after a few moments, I pointed to my Uncle Veral whose middle name I bear. It was my first memory of courage. My father enjoyed telling the story down through the years.

When I was born, my parents did not know if they would ever see my father's brother again, so they gave me his middle name.  I have often wondered what all our lives would have been like if Uncle Veral had not come home, having died in a hostile environment, alone, starving, and with little hope of ever seeing us again.  But he did return, went on to the University of Oregon on the GI Bill, and raised his family.  He never spoke of his imprisonment to anyone other than his wife and my father to my knowledge.  It was too painful.  My father told me that the only thing that kept him alive were the pictures in his mind of June, his wife, and the hope that he would see her and all of us again some day.

Millions of Americans have dutifully gone off to war in the 234 years since our forefathers declared their independence from Great Britain. Nearly a million never came home, even during the Civil War, and millions more came back maimed in body, soul, and spirit, to pick up as best they could where they left off. 

During this Veterans Day, it is my prayer that Americans of all ages, in whatever circumstance they find themselves, would take a few minutes to recall or imagine how much has been sacrificed by so many, that we, and millions around the world would remain free, or have the opportunity to be free.  May we all be thankful to our past and present Veterans, with new resolve and determination not to allow their sacrifice to be in vain.