Took the dog to the park. Tossed a tennis ball for him. While I was walking around, I met an old gent who was planting a tree. His name is Charlie Palmer.
He was a "Water Boy", a water filtration apecialist, with the 95th Division in Europe during World War Two. His company landed at Normandy four days after the battle was over. He spent three years and eight days in the US Army, and proudly says that he made the rank of PFC three times. He lives in a house darn near in the middle of the park, and enjoys it because it gives him a steady stream of pretty girls to look at. Claims that if he ever looses the urge to ogle the ladies, he might as well cash his chips in right then and there.
I shook his hand, and told him that I was damn proud to meet him. These days, your chance of shaking the hand of a WWII vet is slim to none, and I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity.
He finished with his planting, we gave our salutations and I headed back home, just a little bit richer.