wroughtn_harv
Super Member
Today as we said our goodbyes I went into the men's room by the lobby. As I stood there looking at the wall mounted urinal I couldn't help but notice and smile at the wet area on the tile floor just below the urinal.
It seems we start off as not always being able to hit the target area as children and then when we get old it happens all over again. For me seeing the wet spot meant something. You see I know it was there because dribble is one of the signs of being an old man.
And almost all the old men in that building this morning were heroes by any definition. And for me there was this personal moment of maturity. I now understand that someday the dribble will be more of a problem for me and that's okay. It can and does happen to the best of us.
Six of them died between last year's Labor Day and this one. There were thirty two at the dinner last night. A safe estimate would be twelve veterans and the rest of us those that love them.
It was a noisy dinner, always is. The hard of hearing talk louder. I have often wondered if they talk louder to hear themselves or to encourage us to talk loud also. I've left wondering about why people talk loud to the blind for others to figure out.
Today was emotional. It always is. When the median age is eighty plus another year is not taken for granted so easily. So each goodbye is one take very seriously. And of course men being men there is humor, black humor that makes the women cringe, but humor.
Now normally when men hug it's a man thing kind of hug. Even in a good hug there is the man thing of expressing one's position, or supposed position in the group. So a hug is an expression of strength, just enough of an expression of strength to ward off any suspicions the hug might mean more than it does.
But when the huggee and or hugger is frail and old the hug becomes a whole nother thing. A good thing btw. It's sorta interesting watching a strong man hug a man and do it with the gentleness naturally that women usually have to be trained to have.
Now I know these men were and are heroes. There is not a doubt in my mind. It's been documented and even if it wasn't I think I'd still be a believer in them.
I stood there in the men's room wiping away the evidence of something that had clouded my vision and smiled at the wet floor. I had known for years that real men cry real tears. Now I understood they also dribbled if they lived long enough, even those amongst that are heroes.
The men of the Eighteenth Field Artillery fought in five major battles in Europe. They are the real deal documented heroes. And almost sixty years later they still love each other deeply. And what is amazing in this day and time is the families of the departed heroes still show up at the reunion. Think about that for a minute. Such a bond, a bond so strong that time and death can't break it.
They paid a price that's true. But their reward, they earned the reward, is something us normal human beings can only look at from the outside with envy and appreciation for their sacrifice.
Every Labor Day my wife and me go to the annual reunion of the Eighteenth Field Artillery in Lawton Oklahoma. This weekend was an especially emotional one. My wife's step dad passed away two weeks ago. He was part of C Battery. My wife got to join him in a tour of the D Day beaches and Europe in ninety four during the celebration of fifty years since 6-6-44.
The men and women of the Eighteenth (the wives paid just as high a price as the men during the War) adopted her. She's been to every reunion since. I was adopted a couple of years later by this wonderful group.
I don't have to search a book or stare at the telley to find a heroe to believe in. I have real heroes. And they're not perfect. Some if not most of them these days can't even use a urinal without making a mess. That doesn't mean they're still not heroic. They're just human and real. And old.
It seems we start off as not always being able to hit the target area as children and then when we get old it happens all over again. For me seeing the wet spot meant something. You see I know it was there because dribble is one of the signs of being an old man.
And almost all the old men in that building this morning were heroes by any definition. And for me there was this personal moment of maturity. I now understand that someday the dribble will be more of a problem for me and that's okay. It can and does happen to the best of us.
Six of them died between last year's Labor Day and this one. There were thirty two at the dinner last night. A safe estimate would be twelve veterans and the rest of us those that love them.
It was a noisy dinner, always is. The hard of hearing talk louder. I have often wondered if they talk louder to hear themselves or to encourage us to talk loud also. I've left wondering about why people talk loud to the blind for others to figure out.
Today was emotional. It always is. When the median age is eighty plus another year is not taken for granted so easily. So each goodbye is one take very seriously. And of course men being men there is humor, black humor that makes the women cringe, but humor.
Now normally when men hug it's a man thing kind of hug. Even in a good hug there is the man thing of expressing one's position, or supposed position in the group. So a hug is an expression of strength, just enough of an expression of strength to ward off any suspicions the hug might mean more than it does.
But when the huggee and or hugger is frail and old the hug becomes a whole nother thing. A good thing btw. It's sorta interesting watching a strong man hug a man and do it with the gentleness naturally that women usually have to be trained to have.
Now I know these men were and are heroes. There is not a doubt in my mind. It's been documented and even if it wasn't I think I'd still be a believer in them.
I stood there in the men's room wiping away the evidence of something that had clouded my vision and smiled at the wet floor. I had known for years that real men cry real tears. Now I understood they also dribbled if they lived long enough, even those amongst that are heroes.
The men of the Eighteenth Field Artillery fought in five major battles in Europe. They are the real deal documented heroes. And almost sixty years later they still love each other deeply. And what is amazing in this day and time is the families of the departed heroes still show up at the reunion. Think about that for a minute. Such a bond, a bond so strong that time and death can't break it.
They paid a price that's true. But their reward, they earned the reward, is something us normal human beings can only look at from the outside with envy and appreciation for their sacrifice.
Every Labor Day my wife and me go to the annual reunion of the Eighteenth Field Artillery in Lawton Oklahoma. This weekend was an especially emotional one. My wife's step dad passed away two weeks ago. He was part of C Battery. My wife got to join him in a tour of the D Day beaches and Europe in ninety four during the celebration of fifty years since 6-6-44.
The men and women of the Eighteenth (the wives paid just as high a price as the men during the War) adopted her. She's been to every reunion since. I was adopted a couple of years later by this wonderful group.
I don't have to search a book or stare at the telley to find a heroe to believe in. I have real heroes. And they're not perfect. Some if not most of them these days can't even use a urinal without making a mess. That doesn't mean they're still not heroic. They're just human and real. And old.
