Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safewear no badge or emblem. You can’t tell a vet just by looking.

What is a vet?

He’s the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn’t run out of fuel.

He’s the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.

She (or he) is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.

He’s the POW who went away one person and came back another... or didn’t come back at all.

He’s the Quantico drill instructor who has never seen combat, but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each other’s backs.

He’s the parade-riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.

He’s the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by.

He’s the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean’s sunless deep.

He’s the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket, palsied now and aggravatingly slow, who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wished all day long that his wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.

He’s an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being, a person who offered some of this life’s most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.

He’s a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he’s nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known.

So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country, just lean over and say, "Thank you!" That’s all most people need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded.

Two little words that mean a lot, "Thank You!"

Remember November 11th is Veterans Day.

It’s the soldier, sailor, marine and airman, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.

It’s the soldier, sailor, marine and airman, not the campus organizer, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.

It is the soldier, sailor, marine and airman, who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag.

Author Unknown

"We shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders Fields"
John McCrae

I know all this first hand. He was my brother-in-law, Jim Clouse. He was one of the kindest and most loving people I have ever known. He lives on through his 2 year old son who is a little miracle. His mother (my youngest sister) was 40 years old and caring for a dying husband throughout her difficult pregnacy. But God saw to it that she safely delivered a perfectly healthy child. We feel that God knew before conception what Jim's condition was, so we know beyond a doubt that this child is His miracle.

He wanted a military funeral, so in the process of planning we found out that he was a decorated soldier and had never boasted about or "used" this information to his benefit.