
My dad served his country in WWII, earning a Purple Heart from the physical injuries sustained there. Perhaps the deeper wounds he suffered were carried within his heart. Today as his Alzheimer'
I guess I'm old because I remember the tumultuous 60's. I remember the hippy generation and the anti-war movement. I remember my mother crying at the kitchen table for not only my brother, who was in Vietnam, but those POW's. I thought those who were serving were heroes and thought that everyone did--my mother surely instilled that in me. I remember my brother sending us letters and how often we read them until he could come home. Then one day my brother was to come home on leave and we all packed into the car to greet him at the airport. I was so proud that I had a brother who believed in his country and who was willing to shed his blood and never had any doubt that others felt the same way. Until---my brother walked through those gates and I witnessed what happened as my brother, wearing his uniform, arrived home from that commercial flight. I will never forget that moment, when my sheer happiness quickly turned to fear and anger as the hatred of my brothers generation fell on him before my very eyes. A young man who was apparently waiting for another passenger on the flight took the opportunity to spit on my brother.
When John McCain delivered his acceptance speech at the Republican National Convention, I recalled


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