When I was ten years old, my little brother was born on November 11th. (Happy Birthday, Kenny.) It was a pretty big deal, of course. But I didn’t understand the significance of the date. I suppose I’d heard of Armistice Day, as it was known back then. I think it was a “no school” day.

To our grandfather, though, the date was important. I remember him standing in our living room, wearing his trademark, striped overalls. “You probably don’t think much about this day,” he said to us. “But you would. If your brother had been fighting in The Great War when Germany and the Allies signed a deal for peace,  you’d think about it.”

So, I do.

This year, I’ll think about it for that great-uncle I never knew. And I’ll think about it for my good friend, Lenna, who has two sons serving on foreign soil right now. Because, November 11th isn’t just another no-school day. It’s personal. Very, very personal.

And I’m thinking about it.