A wrangler's reckless writings: Proud veteran

The gray-haired man of ninety-seven didn’t stand so tall. But the soul inside this country’s son was the greatest of them all.He stood for right, no matter who or what got in his way. He loved his country and his God up to his dying day.When duty called, at just eighteen, the Navy welcomed him. His time aboard a merchant ship was often pretty grim.My father never talked of war; he kept it all inside. But the way he treated veterans showed that he had served with pride.One day, when I was young, and we were hauling loads of hay, we saw a Navy boy in blue hitchhiking on our way.My father sat behind the wheel. Said, “Let’s pick up that young man. He’s prob’ly headed home. I’d like to help him if we can.“Our load is strapped down tight. It ain’t about to shift around. A few more miles won’t kill us and we’ll help him get homebound.“We don’t give every hitchhiker a ride in this old truck.

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