Yesterday was a big day.
In case you didn't know, it marked its 68th year.
Around here, this holiday is probably second only to Christmas for one of my children.
Then you must be new around here.
You see, every year, on June 6th, we celebrate the allied invasion at Normandy during World War II. Otherwise known as D-Day. Or Operation Neptune. Or Operation Overlord.
I know all these things, you see, because he tells me. Every year.
Whatever you call the day, it's a big deal in the heart of my boy.
First thing out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, his face is in mine, as he wishes me a Happy D-Day. He then proceeds to follow me around the house, sharing time lines and details from that morning long ago. He doesn't just find it interesting; he breathes it in his soul. His passion spills over to the rest of us, and we can't help but get caught up in it, too.
(Though, for his brother and sister, I suspect a lot of the enthusiasm comes from the annual cake that Chase makes to celebrate.)
This year, it was a tank, made up and created entirely by Chase.
So, fallen brothers at Normandy, let your souls be at peace. All the way across the pond, in a little suburb of St. Louis, a 12-year-old boy remembers your sacrifice.
And makes sure that none of us forget it either.
I think it's pretty freaking awesome.