D-Day, continued...
On the heels of my previous post, I write:
Last week, I was honored with a very special customer in my store. An elderly man came in to purchase some bags and a belt for his Eureka vacuum. I noticed a worn, golden cartouche on a chain around his neck. Coupling it with the WWII Veteran cap he wore, I wondered if he had had that cartouche since his service, perhaps in the desert, against Rommel. We spoke of cartouches briefly, then I asked if Egypt was where he served. This darling little man with a curling white mustache responded, "Oh no, my dear, I was on the beach in Normandy." He further stated that he "shot a little, ducked a little."
My eyes were welling with tears from the moment he told me he was at Normandy. I noticed his twinkling blue eyes were looking a little full, too, when he realized I was crying. He asked me what he owed me for the purchase. I told him he did not owe me anything, I owed him. I asked only to shake his hand.
He stared at me in disbelief, that I would simply give him the items he wanted. He, at first, didn't understand. I had only the day before wished that I had had the opportunity to meet a D-day survivor. And, here he was!
I think, finally, maybe, he understood. There is nothing I could do for him, nothing I could give him, that would come close to equaling what he had done for me sixty-six years ago. This man, and too many like him, fought, and bled, and even died that day in Normandy. What is there to equal that sacrifice?
Honor our heroes, past and present. You are here, because they were there!
On the heels of my previous post, I write:
Last week, I was honored with a very special customer in my store. An elderly man came in to purchase some bags and a belt for his Eureka vacuum. I noticed a worn, golden cartouche on a chain around his neck. Coupling it with the WWII Veteran cap he wore, I wondered if he had had that cartouche since his service, perhaps in the desert, against Rommel. We spoke of cartouches briefly, then I asked if Egypt was where he served. This darling little man with a curling white mustache responded, "Oh no, my dear, I was on the beach in Normandy." He further stated that he "shot a little, ducked a little."
My eyes were welling with tears from the moment he told me he was at Normandy. I noticed his twinkling blue eyes were looking a little full, too, when he realized I was crying. He asked me what he owed me for the purchase. I told him he did not owe me anything, I owed him. I asked only to shake his hand.
He stared at me in disbelief, that I would simply give him the items he wanted. He, at first, didn't understand. I had only the day before wished that I had had the opportunity to meet a D-day survivor. And, here he was!
I think, finally, maybe, he understood. There is nothing I could do for him, nothing I could give him, that would come close to equaling what he had done for me sixty-six years ago. This man, and too many like him, fought, and bled, and even died that day in Normandy. What is there to equal that sacrifice?
Honor our heroes, past and present. You are here, because they were there!