My father was a combat-wounded veteran of WWII. One of my earlier memories of him is of me rubbing his back with Ben-Gay. There was a little scar on his chest (where the bullet went in) and a BIG scar on his back (where the field medic dug the bullet out with a bayonet). In between was nothing but scar tissue and adhesions; he was left with one lung and permanent nerve damage. I grew up knowing that this is what war could do to a person. Spending my entire career working at a VA hospital in the Prosthetics service reinforced this knowledge.

I am very glad Mr. Walsh is nowhere I can get to him. Orange is not my color.