My father, who passed away last summer, fought in the Pacific during WWII, as the Electrician’s Mate on a destroyer in Bull Halsey’s task group; he used to say that he was the only man on the ship who was willing to climb the mast. Which he had to, because there was a lot of equipment up there. His older brother commanded a tank in Europe, and participated in both the Battle of the Bulge and on Patton’s clandestine raid to save the Lippizaner mares from the Russians.

I have always admired their attitudes about the war. They were boys when the war began, and signed up as they were allowed to. They did intense physical training for the year or so leading up to that, knowing that they’d need to be in good shape to do well. They fought the war as assigned, and saw a great deal of action. They did their best.

And then, when it was over, they came home, and got married, had lots of kids, had successful careers, and just generally got on with things. The war was formative…but it wasn’t central. It formed them; but it didn’t define them. It was a job for which their services were required, and they did it like they did any of the jobs they took on during their long lives–with determination, perseverance, and all necessary skill. And when the job was done…it was done.

And for those who never had the chance to just generally get on with things:

Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon them; and may their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace.