The Thank You Note is In the Mail

My dad was a complicated person. He subscribed to both Time and Newsweek to get all sides of an issue.  He was a total realist, but he loved movies and novels and was delighted that his daughter had a talent for telling stories. He could flirt and flatter with the best, but accepted compliments only if they were true.  He knew when he was being manipulated to do someone's dirty work--like when he got his draft notice--and even though he took care of business and then some, don't tell him a war wrapped in stars and stripes smelled any better than a war wrapped in other shapes.  He was there and he had a nose. He dismissed the label Greatest Generation for what it was--a marketing gimmick to sell product--and knew that if his generation was successful it was because of luck and circumstance: a roaring economy, the GI bill and an intact social contract.  He died before the war machine came up with the brilliant piece of propaganda of thanking vets for their service and I can picture his reaction if someone had the naivety to do so:  you aren't the person who should be thanking me.