Last year, I was in DC for a few days during a road trip.
Went to the Museum of American History where they were featuring a WWII exhibit.
As people milled about looking at the various displays, I noticed an old man walking around in the cramped quarters.
Small in build, frail. But smiling. Had a cap on his head, a knapsack on his back, and his hand clasped around the tiny hand of a little boy.
My parents taught me at a young age to pay close heed to the sacrifices made by those who serve in the Armed Forces, and I had a hunch this man was a veteran. Walked over to him and sheepishly asked.
He was. WWII. I shook his hand knowing full well that soon there will be a time when there are no WWII veterans left to thank.
What struck me was how surprised this man was to be noticed in the crowd at all. How appreciative he was to be appreciated in that moment, as he stood anonymously in a room tributing his own history.
Some of our history is on display…and some of it is standing right next to us.
Happy Memorial Day