Today I called my Dad in Tennessee. He is eighty seven, a veteran of WWII and Korea. It is Memorial Weekend. I've been thinking about him and so many others of that greatest generation, those who grew up during the depression.
He told me that back in the thirties his family tried to eat a groundhog. He said, "It was so tough that you couldn't stick a fork in the gravy."
I try to call every Saturday. One day before too long there won't be an answer.
My sincere appreciation to all good fathers; my eternal thanks to veterans, the dead, the living, the shattered, and the old ones fading away.
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