My thanks to veterans is personal

From the Halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli.

And from Trenton to Cuba to the Ardennes forest to Tarawa to Leyte Gulf to the Bulge to Inchon to Khe Sanh to Afghanistan to Fallajah to the unknown places fought by our special forces. 

This is a short list of places where Americans in uniform fought and died.

Not for “America.”

For you and for me.

That’s how I see it — for me, and that’s what I tell veterans. I thank them for their service to me. It is personal.

I did not go because I was not called. I was a father by the time I was 21, and that exempted me. There was no war at that time.

I always felt I lost something by missing military service. 

Most of the guys of my generation felt it was a pain in the ass, but had value. Only one guy I knew, a boss of mine before I made it to Philadelphia, said it was a waste of time. Period.

Whether in peacetime, or in time of war, everyone who served gave up something. Those in combat risked their lives. Those who spent their lives we honor on Memorial Day.

But even the pencil pushers, and truck drivers, and cooks, and lawyers, and doctors, and public information officers, and quartermasters, and airplane mechanics, and radar technicians, all spent time, and time away from home and loved ones.

Some delayed the start of careers; some interrupted careers.

It may have been a pain in the ass for some, but it meant the rest of us could sleep at night, in safety.

Thanks to all of you who served.