On the Fourth of July this year, we were in France, and as part of my birthday gift, Ruthie treated me to a D-Day tour. We both wanted to do this, and we did think it was kind of cool that it was July 4th, even though we are not traditionally patriotic.

All day, we had been riding around in a mini van with some fellow Americans and some New Zealanders, being given a truly excellent and highly informative tour of Omaha Beach, Utah Beach, some key bridges and other sites by our British guide.  No one mentioned that it was July 4th, actually. We looked at gun placements, barbed wire, bomb craters, 11th century churches and the American Cemetery. The weather was beautiful, and I looked out at Omaha Beach and tried to imagine what had happened on June 6, 1944. We all did, I think.

I pay more attention professionally and personally to international history and politics than I do domestic, but I have been thinking about World War II and the military differently since that day. “The beaches at Normandy” are no longer from a far away time or place for me any more. “We” (I have never thought of myself as a “we” in the context of being an American before) were fighting a real enemy, Hitler, who was dead a year later. There is no gray area there for me.The Nazis had to be stopped. It couldn’t be about diplomacy.So, American troops came in and became part of the Allied Forces who manifested that.  Guys came in to northern France on that terrible Tuesday and died on those beaches and the fields and marshes nearby. But more survived and went on to reclaim France and the rest is well, history.

In Saint-Mere Eglise, we encountered this group of self-identified Wounded Warriors: young vets who were riding 40Ks plus a day around European battle sites. They were fit, female and male, various races, and some of them were missing their original limbs, arms, legs, feet, hands or some combination of these. And they were riding beautiful bicycles and having one hell of a good time it looked like.These shots were taken when the mayor of the town came out with a case of beer and offered them some.

I was impressed and surprisingly touched by this whole thing. It is not a small feat to ride 40ks on a bike day after day in the sun, never mind if you have all of your limbs or a mind that has not experienced trauma. I couldn’t even imagine what their experience was like, really, and I dithered about taking any pictures. I tried to be discreet.

I don’t know what I think about the conflicts that injured these soldiers. WWII seems not the least bit theoretical to me. I don’t know that it is that clear for me with regard to Iraq, Afghanistan, the mess of Vietnam, the war I watched on TV as a kid. I know the military is a viable profession for some people (personally I could never do it) and I totally and truly respect that. A kid I had in fifth and 10th grade came back to school in his Marine uniform last year and I was really proud of him.There was no other word for my reaction.

But, I do imagine that these soldiers believe in what they were fighting for — I hope that they did, because they have sacrificed things the rest of us can only guess at. I think it is foolish not to have a military at this point in time. Unless everyone simultaneously agrees to stop fighting…right…NOW!