Grab a kleenex…
My dad, who died of pancreatic cancer almost two years ago, less than 3 weeks shy of his 92nd birthday, was a POW in WW2.
He was a navigator in a B-17 and his plane was shot down on a bombing mission in 1944. Not all of his crew made it out of the plane.
He didn’t talk much about his time there until late in his life.
He had kept a diary while imprisoned and on every page — every page — food was somehow mentioned, because all the POWs were starving near the end of the war.
He told me his German guards didn’t have much food either, but more than the POWs, and he would swap his ration of cigarettes (he never smoked due to asthma) for food.
He told me of the bitter cold during his forced march near the end of the war. As the Russians were closing in on one side and the Americans and her allies on the other, thousands of prisoners, with no winter coats, no winter clothes, no warm shoes, were force-marched through snow, hundreds of miles, and many died on the way.
So I took it as a personal insult when Donald Trump said Senator John McCain, perhaps the most famous POW of the Vietnam War, was not a hero because he was captured.
Trump isn’t worthy of being in the same room as my father, or John McCain, or any of the surviving POWs from our wars.
He isn’t worthy of any Gold Star family’s tears.
And I’m not the only Independent voter who believes that:
Can you imagine what this war hero must have gone through to still feel so much emotion more than 60 years after his capture?
My choice is simple.
For my Dad.
For Joel Sollender.
For John McCain.
For the Khans.
For all who made a sacrifice Trump wouldn’t dream of.