My Father Ordered Me to Strip Off My Uniform at His Cookout

Uncle Raymond looked at my ribbons, then at my shoulder, then at my father.

“Harold,” he said, “do you know what a Legion of Merit looks like?”

Dad said nothing.

Raymond pointed.

“What about a Bronze Star? You know that one, don’t you?”

My father’s eyes flicked across my chest. Once. Fast.

He’d never learned any of it.

That was the ugly little joke.

The man continue reading …