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Jpeg courtesy of theroadhere/Patti Rimmer.

I remember as a lad, the day JFK was shot. For whatever reason, this first grader wasn't in school that day. Was with the folks, lunching at a small local hamburger stand (long gone for an overpass). When people shuddered, then whispered in somber and hushed tones. Clocks stopped. The world had gone akilter. No little axial wobble that.

Eventually .... the crushed, but not beaten spirit of America returned. And among the renewal could be heard new sounds, the Beatles ... rock n' roll baby. And though I be as happy as any, when JohnPaulGeorgeandRingo poured forth. Merrily escaping the confines of the central, dash mounted mono speaker, fed by the metal AM car radio. I none the less had a distinct and knowing affinity for the Marine Corps Hymn. Always taking comfort in its simple bipolar color palette lyric.

In a world gaining in complexity, while spinning exasperatingly faster. Some things will never change. The debt of gratitude we owe to those who gave their all, their everything. With nary a sigh, pause, or backward glance. Facing evil ... eye to eye, toe to toe. Neither blinking nor turning away. Nor faltering. Never surrendering the light, unto the darkness. Not questioning their belief in themselves or America. Never breaking under an enormous mountain of evil.

Not for adulation, congratulation, esteem, reward, or commendation. Simply doing the right thing. For G*d and country. Your America, my America, our America. On this day, it is my privilege to bow head, to speak in a whispered tone. To stand and be counted among those who give eternal Thanks.