Last month, on a Tuesday in the second week of our
vacation in New Hampshire, we had gone out for a walk and sightseeing in the picturesque
lake town of Meredith. On the edge of its
main thoroughfare, we waited at a crosswalk that would take us to Town Docks
where tourists regularly line up for great lobster rolls.
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The undaunted courage of our American soldiers
returning home manifests itself as much on an ordinary
sidewalk, as it did in foreign fields of fire.
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Cars had stopped to let us by, and one of them was
honking for us to get on with it, but I was too preoccupied with observing the
young man and woman walking away from us.
I would have only a moment to snap a telephoto shot of the American hero
which you see in the accompanying image.
I don’t know which of our three wars he fought in. Nor do I know how many tours of duty he may
have served on behalf of America. But it
seemed from his age and injury that it must have been Iraq, Afghanistan or
Pakistan. Which one of those military
theaters of operation was the cause of his missing limb, I wondered?