Our James wrote a nice story about his father today in his Friday Star-Trib column. I have enjoyed the many stories he has written about his father through the years in the Bleat, especially the war stories. There are not many people like him anymore I’m afraid.
There’s this guy who bought the Sunday Strib every week, for years. Never missed it. Never subscribed, either — he liked the old-fashioned ritual of going to the store and picking up a paper from the thick, neat sheaf.
Maybe you saw him. Perhaps you paid no notice. There are lots of old guys around, but few of his particular type: He wore a cap that said WWII vet. A diminishing breed of men who left a part of themselves on a beach or a forest and spent the rest of their lives with a small, familiar ache in their hearts.
You see those men with that hat, you want to say thanks. You wonder what stories it took them decades to tell.
Read the whole thing.Published in