The memory is clear in comparison to others that have faded over the years. The early morning Ohio air seemed crisp even though it was the middle of summer, somewhere around the end of July I suppose. I stood by, waiting for Grandpa as I did every morning and evening, during every visit to Ohio throughout my childhood. Grandpa emerged from the garage with his American flag, rolled neatly from the previous evening. The flag was slightly weathered from daily use, but still in good condition. Every so often, during road trips, Grandpa would stop and complain to a business owner who flew a tattered flag. Each morning he carried the colors at a modified port arms, calling me to attention and then present arms, singing a fine rendition of To The Colors while unrolling his flag. I’d watch the flag sway in the breeze, maintaining the best salute a seven year old could render until Grandpa completed the tune and slid the staff into the bracket on the garage. My Grandpa taught me what it means to be an American. He taught me about ideals and traits that I now observe in our Army’s Soldiers, and that I hope I embodythrough service to our Nation and these Soldiers.