Tomorrow is Veterans Day. It was originally named Armistice Day.  At the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month – the day in 1918 when a cease fire to WWI was called, we will give thanks.  We will remember those who cared enough, they were willing to give their all.  

I grew up in England during WWII.  I was 13 when the war ended.  Seeing War through the eyes of a child is different.  We don’t see the pain and scars behind the smiles and bravado.

My town was not reduced to rubble.  We didn’t lose family members.  Our home remained intact for the most part.  As youngsters, the shelters became a nightly routine that was almost exciting.  We even had a guessing game in the shelters … where is it going to land?  ‘It’ referring to the buzz bombs.  We were told, this is how it is right now.  It will get better.

We had a US Military base close by. A few ‘Yanks’ would come to our home for a meal.  We adored them – they brought candy, canned peaches, all kinds of treats from their PX.  They ran races with us, told us stories about their hometowns.  They never mentioned war.

As we think back, we can see the signs we, as children, missed.  The loneliness for their own family, the dread of the next Mission, the joy they received from giving and sharing, the fact that they – complete strangers cared what might happen to us.

So, when Veterans Day rolls around each year, I give thanks for these ‘Yanks’ who were willing to risk their own lives to save ours.  Who protected us from many of the horrors of war.  Who said We will not let you down.

You are my North star.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You changed my world.

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