I used to overlook Veteran's Day. If it didn't get me out of school, then it ranked dangerously low as a priority. I didn't beg my parents to put out the American flag, hug my relatives for their services to the country or even verbally acknowledge the day. It just was.

Then, of course, you lose people, and you start to think, start to look beyond the shallow confines of your own little world. Veterans Day hit me hard this year.

Both my grandfather and his brother served in World War II, and both came back different people. My grandfather never talked about the war, what he'd seen or what he did. It was a topic that we - the grandchildren - respectfully avoided, though we were always itching to know the details. My Great-Uncle Oz, however, loved to rehash his glory days. He killed for his country, and he was proud to tell anyone while showing off his spoils from war (an old German Luger and a Hitler Youth Knife, both of which we still have).

I used to resent how quiet my grandfather was about the whole thing. Partly because of how exclusive the knowledge was (I'll still never know; my grandmother has aggressive dementia and mostly just talks to herself, and my mom and uncles don't know much about what happened either) and also because I felt like we were too close to each other to keep secrets.

Now that he's gone (he fought hard, but the cancer fought harder), I realize all the things he did share with me have been taken for granted. There are so many things that he taught and told me, things I didn't think about at the time because I was just a selfish little kid. And I wonder if he were here now, would be be proud of the person I've become?

I love and miss you, Glenwood Adams.