Personally, I'm not up to much celebrating this year, but that doesn't dim my love for my country.

I love America.

My great-grandfather fought in the War Between The States, some of you would say on the wrong side. But he fought for what he believed, as did many of his brothers and cousins. Because the USA is what it is, he was able get past "the past" and make a good life for his family on a new homestead in state further West.

My father was in World War I. He was fiercely patriotic. His own father died while he fought in Germany.

I was born on the brink of World War II. A cousin, whom my mother had raised, was a bomber pilot, leaving a boxing scholarship at LSU to join the Army Air Corps. The last time I saw him, I was around 3 years old. He was flying his bomber to Texas to leave with the rest of his squadron for the Mediterranian. He flew low over our small town square, "buzzing" the courthouse and our newspaper office. My Dad carried me outside so I could wave to "Ramie" who was going to fight for America. He and a close friend from home went through it all together. Raymond had flown his last mission and was ready to come home, but his friend had a premonition about his one remaining flight and told Raymond how scared he was to make the last run. Raymond told him to go on home and he'd take the flight for him. He did not return, but his buddy made it back.

My half-brother, who was 30 years my senior, fought in World War II. When he came through town on the troop train, headed for Europe, I thought he was the most handsome soldier I ever saw. He, thank God, came back safely.

I had cousins in Korea and friends in Viet Nam. Some came back, some didn't.

They all had a common thought. They loved America and were doing their best to keep her free.

I love America.

Mary