My father was an 18 year old coming down Kaimuki Hill from church when they saw a big cloud over Pearl Harbor. Everyone thought it was a fire. That night all the ROTC kids (including Dad) were called out to the mountains for the coming invasion. They ended up shooting at each other all night.
Drafted as a private. In the segregated days, where does a Chinese soldier from Hawaii get put? In a white unit destined for the Pacific. Climbing down the nets to the landing craft. Master calls out for him to get out. Can't go on the beaches. Would be shot by own troops as a Japanese sniper in US gear. Ends up guarding an artillery unit one mile behind the lines.
Much, much later on. Big day coming. Supplies being stocked up. Hawaii boys hearing how Tripler Hospital in Honolulu (the main military hospital in the Pacific) is pitching massive tents on the lawn. Invasion of Japan. Everybody scared. Then word of a new bomb. Then another one. Then . . .
Whether drafted, volunteered for a job, volunteered because everyone else did, volunteered because it was the right thing . . . doesn't matter. Because of them in WWII, Korea, Vietnam, all the battles that are forgotten, and especially all the silent battles that get hushed up, my American generation didn't have to go through it. We could go to school, work, travel around . . . didn't have to see the bad side of humanity (and maybe didn't have to see the bad side inside us). Many thanks to all from all.
(Sometimes I wonder when they look at us, whether they think it wasn't worth it?

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