I have always been curious about my natural father, who was killed in a plane crash in 1951 while stationed in New Mexico. He was an Army Air Corps pilot, and died at age 29. But, today, I found a photograph of his High School Band, in which he can be seen with a clarinet and going to Lee High School. I had always assumed he only played saxophone, since that was the only photo I had. Lee High School would have been my high school except that I was bused across town to the Catholic High School, Bishop Kenny. And, I also played the clarinet in the high school band. Further proof that fate is fickle, and we should revel in the gift of each day. I was only 5 when he died, so I have no independent memory of him, except from photographs. But, looking at this photo, I can't help but think of the Robin Williams' movie, Dead Poets Society, and the scene in which he brings his students to a hallway filled with photos of long dead students, when they were young, and prompts them to live each day as if it were their last. Every soldier who died in service deserves to be remembered today on Memorial Day; but more than that, to be remembered always. They were young, and never got beyond youth. Enjoy your holiday. But, of all holidays, this is one to be enjoyed with a somber grief. This is the one in which grief must combine with thanks. What more can one human give than their very life? Look at each young man in this photo of my dad's high school band. (he is second from the left, third row from the front). Some of them died in the service of their country. Each of them had dreams of the future.