William Kaufmann, my grandfather, served  in the U.S. Navy during World War I. He returned to civilian life after the war, and died in 1923 after battling with complications from the 1918 flu epidemic.

Robert Kaufman, my father, joined the U.S. Navy during World War II. He served in the Pacific, and mustered out when the war was over. But shortly thereafter, he re-enlisted and had a twenty year career as an active duty enlisted man. His marriage to my mother ended in 1945.

William Frohlich served in the U.S. Army during that same war. He served in Europe, was wounded in combat and left the military when the war was over. He married my mother in 1947 and became my Dad. He bore one scar on his right arm, and many scars on his mind that would cause him to shudder or go silent at certain memories even after decades had passed.

I enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1961 to avoid the draft. That is, I wanted to complete my military service before starting a career, so that getting a draft notice would not disrupt whatever plans I might make. I served three years in various jobs, chaplain’s assistant, mail clerk, and truck driver. Thirty-one months of my time of service was spent in France. I never saw combat and my only injury came as a result of a Jeep accident.

Whenever I hear the word “Hero”, I certainly don’t believe it applies to me. or even to my grandfather, father, or my Dad. I reserve that term for conspicuous acts of bravery and valor, the stuff that wins medals. Yes, all four of us signed away our right to life and liberty to the service of our country, but I reserve the term “Hero” for those exceptional men and women who rose to the occasion when it counted. Yet today, every veteran deserves our thanks for signing that life-risking contract and serving, however called, to protect our freedom and way of life.