My Mother Told Me I Could Not Wear My Uniform At The Memorial Until A Veteran Stood Up

tugged his sleeve.

I walked forward anyway. The medal on my left side caught the gray morning light. Not flashy.

Not dramatic. Just metal and ribbon, earned in dust and blood and screaming. I had not worn it for attention.

I had worn it because my father had asked me to. In a letter. One of his last.

Hannah, when they put my name on that wall, wear what continue reading …