I think I'll take a minute to say a hoorah to some veteran's that mean a lot to me. For starters my Uncle Bob, who kicked ass all over Europe in WWI only to serve again in WWII. He might have been to old to kick ass the second time, but he wasn't too old to show the mess hall who's boss. Grandpa Mac. Had one eye. True story. The whole "it's real funny till someone looses an eye" has a history. Grandpa Mac served in WWII with his remaining eye. He served in the US with his McIntosh brothers handling the ammunition. Uncle Exie joined before Pearl Harbor. His wife (pregnant and a teen) followed him around the US hitchhiking to stay with him. He was sent to Europe after D-Day and fought in the Battle of the Bulge. Wounded twice. Forward observer. Uncle Max. Tail gunner and flew in D-Day. Blown out of the sky, MIA, wounded. Then when found and healed, elected to stay in army and haul boxes of equipment all over Africa. That's how it's done! Grandad served in the medical unit. Followed Merrill's Marauders all over Burma. Burma: the National Infantry Museum declared the worst terrain to fight in the world. Uncle (Little) Exie, served in the Navy in the Philippines police action and then again in Afghanistan as a civil serviceman with the army. Grandpa Morgan, Navy during Korea; father-in-law Frank, served in Korea; father--n-law Gary, navy and NASA; Cousin Deric, Navy; nephew Ronnie served in Iraq (suffered head wound); step son, JP, has just begun his adventure. So proud of him. Owe you guys plenty.