Last weekend was the seventieth anniversary of the invasion of Normandy, France, during World War II. I read that many of those who had participated then were returning to salute their fallen comrades for perhaps the last time. Those who survive are in their late eighties and nineties now. Our local high school sent its band to perform during the ceremonies that were planned for June 6, 1944. So there was a lot of publicity in the local media about this event.
Interestingly, there was little on the national news front. I didn’t check the History Channel, and perhaps it relived that day with films, documentaries, and interviews. But I’d expected to see more on the main channels. After all, it was an earth-changing event.
D-Day is particular ingrained in my life, because I was born on June 7. I don’t mean any June 7; I mean the one after June 6, 1944. I have the front page of The New York Times framed and hung in my piano room to remind me that as I was being born men and women were dying. I’m not part of Tom Brokaw’s greatest generation, but I have an affinity for it. It’s fine that the main media didn’t remember my birthday, but I think it’s a shame that they didn’t pay more attention to the seventieth anniversary of D-Day.
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