A few weeks ago an American flag folded tightly into the shape of tri-angle was handed to my mother in honor of my father at his grave-site. Later we were told that if we donated his flag to the American Legion, it would fly on Memorial Day with the other flags of those who served our country.
Before giving back the American Flag we were told to write (on the band that attaches the flag to the pole,) my father's name, where and how he served, and in what war.
Over 350 flags are flying today in our small town. One of them says: George Amaro WWII… Navy.
——————— One of my favorite memories of my father's is when he talked about the first night at base camp:
"The first night in the bunk hall, young men from every part of the Untied States gathered for bed. Most of them farm boys, barely eighteen-years old, and who had never been passed the city limits of their own towns. I was one of them. Like those other boys, I was proud to be there and scared too.
In the dark of the night the sounds of homesickness started to rumble. Within a few minutes every guy there was bawling. We knew the road ahead of us and the country road behind. We were just young boys who had never left home sharing the same feelings…"
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Peace on Earth, we are all the same.
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