His story now rests in a Veterans cemetery on a piece of sacred ground in Eastern Montana.  A man who I have vague memories of, who as my dad describes was, “A big man, with a big voice, and an even bigger heart.”

This man saw things that very few people would live to tell about.  His life, his honor and his legacy are a testament to the country that we live in, the country that so many die to protect.

This man, stormed the beaches of Normandy, on June, 6th 1944, he persevered through the month-long Battle of the Bulge; the costliest battle in the European front {89,500 American Casualties} he witnessed and was part of the liberation of Mittelbau-Dora–a concentration camp in Germany.

He came home to a son, who’s only knowledge of his dad was a picture on the mantle.  This man is the life-blood of the American Spirit and the kind of man who’s story needs to be shouted from the roof tops, a hero with a STORY.

I stood in the blazing sun, in that Veteran’s cemetery and watched as the soldier handed his son the folded American flag; and I was overcome, with tears I bent down to my sons and I told them, “That my sweet-boys is what a hero looks like; honor, integrity and valor.  Remember that boys, true hero’s don’t have million-dollar incomes, or 20-car garages. Real hero’s rest in a  wind-whipped cemetery; in a small, Eastern-Montana town.”


Linking up with The Gypsy Mama for Five-Minute Friday

one topic. five minutes. just write.

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