Memorial Day is near and dear to my heart. It's not just a three-day weekend. My brother is in Iraq for the second time. My grandfather flew bombers over Korea. My great-uncle commanded a ship in World War II. My great-grandfather fought in the Spanish-Indian War. I don't know how many greats back, but Francis Marion, the Swamp Fox from the American Revolution, is my ancestor.
It means something. I try not to be a person who keeps her emotions at the surface, but I will say that I'm close to tears when I think of the sacrifices made by our servicemen.
And on that note, I was in Oakland on Friday with Llama for a doctor's appointment (yes, tubes, June 1, and I'll cover that another day) and as I was walking back to my car, there was a Marine in uniform trying to get directions. Several people ignored him. Pittsburgh is supposed to be one of the friendliest cities. I felt AWFUL, but rather than make apologies for something I hadn't done, I gave him directions and told him to have a great day.
I hope he got where he was going and that he's relaxing today.