Somewhere, there are the bones of thousands of soldiers that were never accounted for. How they died is unknown, and all that is left is the memories of those that lost a family member; and as time goes on, the memories fade. Few remember the bright, promising young man that left in 1943 to Europe, or the Pacific, and never returned. His peers are all gone, and any children are now grandparents, or great-grandparents.
This is the day we remember all that never came home. For those that encounter someone that doesn't have a clue about his day, educate them. They enjoy their barbeque, or cold beer, and don't know the significance of the day that is for remembering those that died so they could be free.
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