Today, I watched the funeral of our 41st President of the United States, George H. W. Bush, and mourned with his family.
I often learn more about a person after their life has ended than I did during it. It’s a sad reality.
The Greatest Generation. He was part of that. A generation that included Americans barely into adulthood when they went to war.
I didn’t know that, at just 20 years old, he was flying a bombing mission against Japanese installations in the Pacific when his aircraft was shot down. He was the only survivor of the three men aboard.
And he never forgot his crew.
To me, he was one of America’s great modern presidents. Honorable. Trustworthy. Caring. A true public servant.
One regret I’ve only recently begun to feel is that I never served in uniform. I never earned the right to wear one of this country’s uniforms through military service.
I want to be like H. W. A family man. A man committed to his country—for life. A respected man.
Will I be?
Should I begin a journey into politics? Can I help?
The eulogy delivered by his son, George W. Bush, was beautiful. From the heart. It felt honest.
I hope such kind words will one day be spoken about me.
At 39, do I still have time to make a difference?
He was already doing so by the time he was 20.