My father yanked the car to the side of the road, shut off the engine, got out and stood holding his hat over his heart. Little flags flew on the bumpers of the car in the lead of a string that had their lights on. We didn't know the person who was being carried in the box. We didn't know the character, the life style, the temperament ... We knew a military man had died. A man who, like my father, like me, had friends who never returned from the field of conflict. Some returned in body, but they have yet to return in soul, mind and strength. May God grant them all peace that passes understanding.