Look at them now, the boys of summer, classmates from high school older than they ever dreamed they’d be, moving carefully, cautiously, wondering where all the curls went.
My heroes are startled by “old man” jabs, tossed too casually by those too young to know that Grandpa once waded through jungles, wet and hungry, sometimes bleeding, but never quitting.
That “move a little faster” kid behind them in the checkout line doesn’t know that same man once carried his buddy through gunfire, or kept moving with a bullet in his own gut, because someone had to.
Look at them now our soldiers who went, drafted or not, to serve, to suffer, too many, to die.
Now they walk a little bent, a little slow for those in too much of a hurry to remember.
They overlook real heroes, these rushing souls but they should be pausing, they should be bowing as the keepers of our freedoms pass them by.