Phil Rosenthal group email message, November 12, 2012 “What Veteran’s Day Means To Me: It was 42 years and two weeks ago exactly when this poor hippie kid from New Jersey boarded the plane that would ultimately lead him to the far corners of the earth to horrific yet everlasting adventures while serving in his country’s military. At first, when he came home to a world that he no longer knew, to friends he no longer knew, his service would be a source of embarrassment to be kept secret at all costs. He grew his hair long and never spoke of it until years later, when it was no longer a bad thing to have served one’s country. Even his ex-hippie wife derided his service and told him not to talk about it to his friends. She made him put his beret, uniform, paratrooper’s wings and combat medals earned in Southeast Asia, the Caribbean and the Middle East at the bottom of a toy chest. Then one day it all changed. Now years later, working in Corporate America in New York City, a co-worker and fellow veteran asked him if he was going to the parade to honor Vietnam vets on 5th Avenue. He chose not to, but felt pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t until (sic) years later, however that his oldest son started asking him questions. He hadn’t said much about his service, just like his Dad hadn’t. It took his Dad’s early death and a look through his papers for the son, now the father, to find out his always gentle, loving Dad had been awarded the Silver Star for heroism in the Normandy Invasion.That was when he realized what the look was on his Dad’s face when he told him he was being deployed to a combat zone. He knew first-hand of the unspeakable horrors that awaited, horrors that are still unspeakable to this day, but never very far away from the subconscious. When he finally went to the old toy chest and took out the dusty objects, his son swelled with pride and not even Mom could… Read more »
Phil Rosenthal group email message, November 12, 2012 “What Veteran’s Day Means To Me: It was 42 years and two weeks ago exactly when this poor hippie kid from New Jersey boarded the plane that would ultimately lead him to the far corners of the earth to horrific yet everlasting adventures while serving in his country’s military. At first, when he came home to a world that he no longer knew, to friends he no longer knew, his service would be a source of embarrassment to be kept secret at all costs. He grew his hair long and never spoke of it until years later, when it was no longer a bad thing to have served one’s country. Even his ex-hippie wife derided his service and told him not to talk about it to his friends. She made him put his beret, uniform, paratrooper’s wings and combat medals earned in Southeast Asia, the Caribbean and the Middle East at the bottom of a toy chest. Then one day it all changed. Now years later, working in Corporate America in New York City, a co-worker and fellow veteran asked him if he was going to the parade to honor Vietnam vets on 5th Avenue. He chose not to, but felt pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t until (sic) years later, however that his oldest son started asking him questions. He hadn’t said much about his service, just like his Dad hadn’t. It took his Dad’s early death and a look through his papers for the son, now the father, to find out his always gentle, loving Dad had been awarded the Silver Star for heroism in the Normandy Invasion.That was when he realized what the look was on his Dad’s face when he told him he was being deployed to a combat zone. He knew first-hand of the unspeakable horrors that awaited, horrors that are still unspeakable to this day, but never very far away from the subconscious. When he finally went to the old toy chest and took out the dusty objects, his son swelled with pride and not even Mom could… Read more »