What a difference a generation makes. I grew up thinking of November 11th as Armistice Day. After all, it celebrated the end of the Great War, World War 1, as signed on that date at Versailles in that boxcar in France. I still think of it that way.

Of course, we now know November 11 as Veteran's Day and why not? A lot of water has run under the bridge since the Great War. We have suffered through several wars since then. There were a few skirmishes in the 1930s before World War II in the 40s. The Korean Conflict (they didn't call it a war) followed that with the Vietnam War soon after. Something happened in El Salvador but was soon forgotten. Once the conflict in the middle East began, there has been no end. I understand why the name was changed to Veterans Day. The Great War was a long time ago.

Armistice Day was important in our home during my younger years. My Uncle Wayne fought in France in the Great War. He was gassed with mustard gas. It bothered him the rest of his life. It seemed that most every man we knew served in the Great War. There were even a few veterans of the Civil War around. Many of the Spanish-American war were still alive. That was the war in which Teddy Roosevelt led the charge. We all knew what “Remember the Maine” meant.

Armistice Day was a day for parades. It was Veteran's Day in everything but the name. My father made sure we attended the parade. He hoped it would be a way we would remember the horrors of war and not want to repeat it. After all, World War 1 was the war to end all wars. Boy, were they wrong.

Moving on to my twenties, it seemed that every man we knew had served either in the Great War, WWII or the Korean War. Nowadays, I only know of two men serving our country. There is something wrong with that picture. It is an honor to serve. Why haven't more done so?

When November 11 rolls around this year, it will be a day of remembrance for me. I will think of Uncle Wayne and his time in France, my dad and his adventure at Mare Island in the Marines at the end of the Great War, my husband's Navy service in the Pacific during WWII, his friend who died in Korea and many that I knew who suffered through the Vietnam War.

My father, Owen Stimer, died sometime during the night of November 11th and 12th in 1951. That makes Veteran's Day a sad day for me.