[In honor of Veterans Day, I’m reposting an excerpt from my book, Life Begins When The Kids Leave Home And The Dog Dies]
At eighteen, you’re immortal.
On the radio last week, I heard a World War II veteran reminiscing about the briefing before D-Day. When they were warned that only one out of three soldiers would make it back, he recalled, every man in the room looked at the men on either side of him and said to himself, “You poor bastards.”
And sometimes, at eighteen you’re a hero.
Of course, we all know who heroes are. Heroes get up in the morning, buckle on their swash, and go out to save the girl, the regiment, and the free world as we know it. Then heroes take their medals and fade happily-ever-after into the sunset. Don’t they?
Or do heroes go back to school, get up at night…
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