by Angela Blair

Created on: November 08, 2009

Veteran's Day is, and hopefully will always be, cherished in the minds and hearts of all Americans. That day has been etched in my heart, very personally, since I was a very small child. Veteran's Day is the day I honor Buddy and hold him close to my heart and try to remember the good times.

It also brings back profound and still troubling memories. I sat with my grandmother and listened to the old radio when President Roosevelt declared war on Japan after Pearl Harbor. The adults cried so I did too. It would prove to be the first of many times we would all cry together before World War II was over.

My memories are as clear and vivid of that time today as they were so long ago. I lived with my grandmother and our next door neighbor was a widow lady named Lucille; the mother of one son, Buddy. Buddy was probably in his late teens; a big, happy, robust kid with red hair and seemed to always have plenty of time for little kids like me.

Buddy was the person that picked the peach for me from the branch I couldn't reach. He put the wheel back on the old red wagon that I cherished and helped me bury my puppy that died. He climbed the China Berry tree and rescued me after I climbed up so high I was afraid to come down. Buddy was my friend and I loved him.

He was one of the first, from our little Texas town, to enlist in the service and I recall standing by our front gate and watching him leave - still waving long after his car was out of sight. I knew I'd miss him, yet it was more than that. I'd be grown before I realized that innocence was lost for both of us that day.

The women in my family waved goodbye to most of the men in our family from that gate as one by one they all enlisted or were drafted. Life became a round of rationing, war bonds and whatever could be done for the war effort. My mother and two aunts went to work at Camp Hood, Texas, which is now Fort Hood and the largest military base in the United States. Most of the conversations among neighbors was how to help win the war and what everyone could do for our boys.

It wasn't long until the War Department was sending the dreaded telegrams to several families in our little community and everyone gathered to mourn the losses. I constantly questioned my grandmother about Buddy as I'd reasoned that if other boys were dying Buddy could die, too. She assured me Buddy's mother had heard from him and although he was overseas he was fine. I prayed for Buddy every night.

Late one afternoon my grandmother called

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