Honestly Dad didn't join the Marines out of some great sense of patriotism but to get the Hell out of his parents house.
The Marines happened to be the branch of military that would accommodate 17 year old's with such a problem.
While he was there he was assigned, after volunteering for it, as the only white guy in a group tasked with gathering the wounded and dead after a battle.
It helped him later land a job at Fountain's Funeral Home back in Port Wentworth Georgia where he again lived with the folks he was desperate to get away from.
Throughout the rest of his life he had a Love/Hate relationship with the military.
He was proud of the Marines but loathed war.
He'd watch war movies wiping tears from his eyes during the killing yet cheer when the good guys one.
A Marine tattoo adorned his right arm though he never showed it off or called attention to it.
He shied away from gatherings with his fellow Veterans but when I drug him kicking and screaming to the dedication of the Savannah Korean War monument he hugged his fellow Vets and they cried together touching the engraved names of their friends who didn't make it back.
That's my last memory of him as a Veteran.
He was ready to go on to the next assignment soon afterwards.
Watching the pomp and circumstance of Veterans Day, I remember how his service changed him and I'm exceedingly thankful he took the turns he did.
I lean much more to the pacifist, peacemaker side of foreign policy decisions but also have the grit to dig in and fight back when justice is greedily provoked.
So Happy Veterans Day Dad, if that's such a thing. You never cared much for it but I find myself grateful for what you gave, and the others too, how the experience changed you and the lessons you left, not so much through words but through the ways you lived with it all afterwards.
Bless you and the rest of them too.