As a child I would beg my dad to tell me stories about when he was a medic in Korea. One of my favourites was the this one:
The shelling hadn't stopped yet and my dad could hear a soldier crying for help. He ran out into the field under fire and pulled the man to safety. At first my dad thought he was an American soldier but later discovered the man was a Canadian. He never knew whether the man lived or died. He was badly injured. Fast forward 30+ years, my husban and I are sitting at a friend of my husband's aunt's kitchen table and he was telling us about his service in Korea and how he served on the American side. One day he was on patrol and fell under heavy fire. He was badly wounded and was sure he was about to die when he felt a strong set of arms lifting and carrying him off the field. He was taken to a hospital so fast he never had time to thank the medic and he never knew whether or not he made it home. Once the shock of hearing the other side of the story wore off I told John my dad was that medic and he did indeed make it home. It was a touching end to a very old story. I now share it with my children since my dad passed away 10 years ago. Thank you all of our brave men and women. Our freedom is paid for by your sacrifice.
