Quantico, a couple years ago.

A spavined old warrior outside one of the Q-town shops, WW2 generation.

I heard him ask a Marine E-5, "Hey, Mac, where's the nearest head?"

The good sergeant pointed, and the old warrior stumped off leaning on a cane.

I grinned. The young sergeant looked at me and grinned. "He called me 'Mac'" he said to me.

"He's an old Marine, they did that when he went through boot camp,"

"He ain't no Marine.....Hmmmm. I guess he IS an old marine, isn't he? Once, always, right?"

The young Marine turned and chased down the old warrior and I heard him say, "Sorry, Mac. Didn't know you were a Marine."

And the young man led the older one to a head that was a bit closer.

True story, I was in the Quantico area and dropped in, hoping to get to watch the rifle guys practice.  

No big thing, but most of life is little shit.


Happy D-Day.

Hooah! And Semper Fi.

Traditions are to history, as candles are to cake,
They give you courage to endure life's daily give and take.
They honor moments that were great, and men who made them so.
There intergenerational, and not afraid to grow.

Not sure I can remember the rest of the poem. Its a good one though. Has to do with the Marines and the Purple Heart.

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