The Other Twenty

Twenty years happened to more than one person.

Somebody else learned the new town every time. Somebody else took the call at 0200 and said it was fine. Somebody else packed the house, again, and got the kids into another school in October.

There was no ceremony for that. No shadow box, no certificate, no final salute. The record only ever had one name on it.

This is the other twenty. For the spouse, the kid, and the parent who did the same twenty years without the uniform, the paycheck, or the ceremony. It says your service was real. It was just never on paper.

We are not going to thank you for your service. You have heard that plenty, and it was never aimed at you anyway.

Olive on bone. Typography only. Printed to order.