Honor Our Veterans Everyday
By PAULA BASSETT
Several years ago I took up walking as a cheap and fun way to stay in shape. I have been very diligent in my walking routine no matter where I am or what the weather is like.
During a recent trip to south Georgia I came upon a quiet pleasant looking little town square that seemed to beckon me to stop and take a closer look.
I parked the car, grabbed my cell phone and car keys and set out for my daily walk.
The people I met along the way were nice, the weather was beautiful and the town was very pretty. It was obvious that the people who lived here took a lot of pride in their little town.
Turning down a side street just off the square I quickly came upon a slow moving little old crippled man.
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“Excuse me” I said in a meek little voice, so as not to startle him too badly.
“Yes Ma’am” he said, flashing me a wide smile as he turned and stepped to the side to let me pass.
He was a slender little black man, his back slightly bent, scruffy gray beard, gray hair peeking out from under his cap. He walked with a walking stick and I noticed his right arm was tucked close to his side, his left hand curled inward toward his waist.
“How you doing?” He asked in cheerful greeting.
“Fine” I replied, barely breaking stride. “You have a stroke?”
“No Ma’am, I was shot… in the war, Vietnam.”
I stopped dead in my tracks.
I turned around and walked the few steps back to him. I held out my hand; “Thank you” I said as he quickly but clumsily propped his walking stick against his left hand and firmly grasp mine in his right.
“My son is a veteran and so is my brother. We lost a son-in-law in Afghanistan a few years ago.”
His face turned humble as the tears welled in my eyes.
I turned and quickly walked away so he wouldn’t see the tears slide down my face.
“God bless you Ma’am” he called after me.
“Thank you” I called out, not looking back.
“Thank you” I whispered, holding my head high.
Paula Bassett is a freelance writer who has written for several local and international publications.
