Deep in our family archives is this lone image of a distant relative. A proud soldier in the Canadian Scottish Regiment of WWI.
Looking into his eyes, the only thing I see is resolve. I would like to know how it found its way there. Why was he on his way to fighting a war so very far away for those he does not know? What type of stories did he hear to make him willing to leave his life behind? What made him choose possible death over the persuit of a long legacy?
When did we stop believing in personal scarifice for "the good of mankind"?
Looking at this photo I have two thoughts. One is if either of my children made this choice to fight in a war far away, it would break my heart. Secondly, I wish I knew this relative's name.
(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)
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