The phone rang one Saturday morning. My daughter was watching cartoons, so I took the cordless into the hall. A man introduced himself. I expected him to launch into a rote sales pitch for a new long-distance service or credit card company, but the voice on the other end paused, as though awaiting recognition.
"Denny McCarty," he repeated.
The name still meant nothing to me.
"I knew your brother," he said.
They were bunkmates. They trained together. They went to Vietnam together.
They came home separately.
(My parents, my big brother & me, maybe 1961?) Complete #MemorialDay essay http://blog.oregonlive.com/fashion/2008/05/memorial_day_essay.html