On December 7, 1941 my father heard about something at a place called "Pearl Harbor" on one of them "new" car radios, after serving mass as a 13 year old alter boy, in the parking lot of St. Elizabeth's. It was at about this very moment, exactly 78 years ago, about a mile from where I am now.

My Uncle Jack was a US Marine anti aircraft "spotter" at Ewa, and he was kind busy with other things, 78 years ago. Like running down the firing line, giving the cease fire order, when his gunners opened fire on the US Navy air wings coming in from the US carriers, later that afternoon. They were all just a little trigger happy, after the events that morning. He made Corporal for that initiative, he made Sargent at Tarawa...

My dad, not wanting to miss the "action", followed his brothers, lied about his age two and a half years later, and joined the US Navy.

My good friend Art's dad was a civilian "Bechtel man" working on building MCAS Wake Island on December 8, 1941 (across the international dateline), and was a POW for four years in hell.

In our lifetimes, we've never owed any group of our fellow Americans so much for the sacrifices they made to preserve our freedom, by defeating tyranny and madness, as we owe to these folks.

We should never forget that debt.