I hate columns that reek of self-importance and are filled of holier-than-thou nonsense where we make everybody feel guilty about something. I call them the Mike Lupica-special.
And I’m not going to pretend to have any idea what it is like to be a veteran, and certainly to serve in a war (they call that the Richard Blumenthal-special). I have no idea what it is like, what it would be like or how terrible it must be.
I get nervous when I walk around compost piles because I might see a snake. I can’t imagine being in the woods in some unknown country, with maniacs trying to shoot me.
And I can’t relate to the families across America who have to worry every day if their son or daughter or husband or wife or brother or sister will come home. And I certainly can’t relate to the families who never had their son or daughter or husband or wife or brother or sister come home, not even a little bit.
All I know is that my main worries today and for the rest of the weekend is eating as much grilled food as possible, having at least two beers per day and hopefully relaxing at the beach. And I know that the reason those are my mains concerns is because of all those armed people stationed around the world, both today and in history, who were willing to fight and die to give me that freedom.
So, good work, I have no idea what it is like, how worried the families must be and how terrible the loss must be. All I know is what we are all given because of all of this, and for that, I am forever grateful.
Happy Memorial Day.
