My great-grandpa (not an immigrant, we don't have an objects from the immigrants in our family 150+ years ago) was a marine in World War II, who went over to Japan in 1943 when he was just 18 years old. He passed away two years ago, the morning after his 90th birthday, and for as long as I knew him, he never once mentioned his time in the marines. It’s probably because of this that we are very patriotic, because it is clear that his time at war affected him greatly.        I first saw my great-grandpa’s marine uniform when it was on display at his wake, and I remember thinking that it was in surprisingly good condition, considering it was about 70 years old. It was relatively plain, a dark green/charcoal color, with a pouch over the chest and a patch on the opposite side, without any other notable features. When I saw it, I was so proud to know that my great-grandpa was one of those men, who at such a young age was brave enough to go off to war, before he even graduated high school. Due to what he saw and had to do, kill an enemy soldier, he never talked about his time in Japan, because the guilt of killing someone his own age never really escaped him. It’s this type of sacrifice that makes me proud of the man that he was, which is what I was thinking about when I saw that uniform. That is what I think of, when I see his marine uniform. 

– Lauren Pipitone

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