While we were in Glasgow, Scotland, and having checked into our hotel there, I stepped onto the lobby elevator. It was a very short ride to the third floor, but in the few moments which transpired between boarding the elevator and getting back off, my one and only "fellow traveler" posed a question.
The man appeared to be about sixty, spoke with what seemed to be a Polish accent and was very difficult to understand.
"Where are you from?"
To which I responded,
"I'm an American."
The foreigner's eyes seemed to grow moist, and he said,
"Ah, those dear precious young boys from America who came to our assistance, and who died for us. We will never forget them."
Now it was my turn to tear up. I thanked the man, and replied,
"Yes, indeed. They were wonderful men and we owe them everything."
As I reflect on it now, it was not only the most meaningful but the shortest conversation I have ever experienced during my almost seventy years on this planet.
Our vacation over, I had the privilege of returning home, unlike those "dear precious young boys" who laid down their lives in places such as France, Germany and Italy, and who still rest beneath marble crosses there.
Fast forward a few months and one of my French social media friends and I were interacting on the 17th anniversary of 911. We were reminiscing about the human sacrifice of so many policemen, firemen and soldiers that day, and I mentioned my conversation with the fellow in Scotland.
To which she responded,
"France has never forgotten all the American victims during WWI and WWII.
Each year I remember them.
Others have never forgotten. We must never forget.
They gave their tomorrows for our todays.
Except from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending.
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