I am reminded that the World War I armistice, when hostilities had ceased, was signed on the 11th hour, of the 11th day in the 11th month of 1918 and formally became Veterans Day.

The day honors our nation’s veterans for their patriotism, sacrifice, love of country, and the commitment to reconsecrate ourselves to promoting an enduring peace.

In my life I have celebrated Veterans Day marching in parades with the Boy Scouts and later as a young Marine. The day reminds me of all veterans but specifically World War II men (my dad and uncles) and women who responded so unselfishly to their country’s call. The day always makes me think of the Flag, the Star-Spangled Banner, and, most importantly, the veterans I’ve met in my life.

Most personally I think of the Marines I served with in Vietnam. Specifically, two Marines both killed in September 1970 defending a remote hill in the middle of nowhere. In the inky, darkness of night our helicopter under fire, picked up and transported their bodies, while tending other critically wounded Marines, back to a Naval Hospital in Da Nang.

I still remember lifting their lifeless bodies onto stretches and medics whisking them to the mortuary to be prepared for their long, silent trip home. Not the way they expected to return.

More currently, I think of a troop of retired volunteer veterans, from North Adams, Massachusetts, who care for and repair aging, broken veteran tombstones, lugging cement and wheelbarrows up hills to complete their most honorable work.

Then there are Williamstown American Legion members, who as a devoted Honor Guard repeatedly serve in the final ceremonies honoring veterans who have died.

I remember all these comrades, living and dead, who answer their country’s call.

On Veterans Day I think of them.