The metal landing craft crashed against the cold, hard English Channel making its way to the beach. Inside, stood my uncle. The ramp dropped and the bullets cracked through the deathly air. My uncle fought his way up the blood stained beach along with his fellow soldiers. Eventually they made it past the lifeless bodies to the Germans. More bullets whizzed by my uncle’s head and German grenades getting tossed back and forth. After the deafening explosions Omaha Beach was taken over.  

On the other side of the world stood my other two uncles. Both in the choppy, dark, silent waters of the pacific. And yet another beach was approached by a massive aircraft carrier. The cannons roared and the beach was struck with bombs that shook the island. The black smoke fumed out the front of the island like a volcano. A deathly shreek blew out of the air horn saying, “Japanese pilots are heading towards the fleet.” My uncles raced to their stations and hoped a kamikaze would not blow a hole the size of a whale in the ship. The planes were shot down before they could make it to the aircraft carrier. Another beach in the Pacific was taken over.  

To me, Memorial Day is the remembrance of what my uncles went through to keep their families safe and along with all the freedoms that I’m privileged to have. I am also proud to know that my uncles served in World War ll and every Memorial Day my aunt would tell stories about their time in the war.