Before I came up here to Chicago, I lived in a small town near Amish country. During the year we lived there, a soldier from the town died in Iraq. The day of his funeral is etched in my mind forever. People from miles around drove into the town. The sidewalks on the streets between the funeral home and the graveyard were packed with people carrying flags. As the funeral procession slowly made it’s way past, you could hear the silence descend upon the town. Hats were taken off and hands covered hearts. Even the children quieted and became sober as the cars passed. After the entire procession had gone past, strangers were hugging strangers. There were many tears for the young man who had given his life for us. Many of us didn’t even know him personally, but what he did was for all of us.
This… this is how fallen soldiers should be honored. They should be given respect for the job they have done. They do this voluntarily. They risk their lives for many people they don’t even know.
They are real heroes.