There's one photo I'll never forget from my childhood. It was of my grandfather in his U.S. Army uniform that always sat on my grandmother's desk. He was a lieutenant during World War II. It looked like such a distant time to me when I'd stare at it as a child, because it was a sepia print and he was so young! I was lucky enough to spend time with him for quite a few years before he passed. He was always smiling, affectionate with my grandmother and loved being surrounded by his "army" of grandchildren. I think in total there were 14. (Sorry, cousins, if I missed any of you!) But when I think of him now, it's always that younger man's face that I remember versus the grandfather in his sixties who had little hair, plenty of loveable wrinkles and wore glasses. I'm not sure why. No one in the family really talked about his time in the army. And none of us really asked. But what my dad did tell me, as I got older, was that our family would not be where we are today if not for his service. So, thank you, Grandpa, you're my hero.