The sky is the bluest of blues. It's a warm Monday in May and I'm off to work. Today the streets are quiet, void of the usual traffic. It's Memorial Day, usually a day off for me. A day to watch the parade of veterans, politicians and local school bands struggle to finish a parade ending with long walk up the small hill in front of our house. It is the first parade that I will miss since we moved to our house almost thirty years ago.

I get to work early as usual and on the porch of senior center is one of the guys I have gotten to know a bit in my short time there. He is dressed impeccable as usual. Every time that I see him his clothes are pressed his tie is straight his eyes are bright and he has a spring in his step. He has the firm hand shake of a military man who was once in command of others. Today is no different except for the flag on the tie he is wearing and the gaze past me down the driveway as he acknowledges my presence. "Good morning, where are you headed?" I ask. He tells me that he is the Grand Marshall of a local town parade. They asked if he could wear something "official" like a "uniform or sash", he says. He bristles at the thought and tells me something that I have heard before from those of his generation who have served our country. He tells me that he doesn't like to go into what happened to him or what he saw and did during the war. I never press for details even though I am curious. He does have an easy way about him but what I think about the most is what he says about those that he served with. He tells me he never wanted to get to close to his comrades during the heat of battle because they would be side by side with him one day and dead the next. But he thinks of them now. He tells me that he isn't a hero since he survived but those who didn't are the true heroes and he misses them everyday.

His ride arrives and he gives me a salute as he leaves. I awkwardly say "thank you for your service" and his answer is as simple and straight forward as he is " Your welcome"