Like many Americans from my generation, I grew up watching war movies and hearing battle stories at family get-togethers as retold by my uncles and cousins. And also like many, sadly, the atrocities of war have touched my family.

My favorite uncle owned and operated a feed and seed store in Ansley, a store that in earlier years had also served as an egg and cream station. Uncle Leceil was a pretty jolly guy most of the time, and he always had Bazooka bubblegum in his front shirt pocket. I still have very vivid memories of running into the store to visit - the smell still clear in my mind. He would scoop me up and I would giggle as I immediately reached into his pocket for my gum. His round belly would jiggle as he held me on it and laughed, reminiscent of Santa himself.

To me, Uncle Leceil was just a fun guy. When I got a little older, he finally decided I could handle knowing what had happened to him. You see, he had been in the Army - which I already knew from the pictures and memorabilia in their home. But the day that Uncle Leceil shared his story with me, I sat spellbound in his living room, hanging on every word.

It was World War II, and Leceil was serving in Germany. It was his turn to take the late-night watch. As he maintained his guard duty, alertly walking back and forth, suddenly a shot rang out and Leceil immediately went to the ground. He had been hit. In the head.

Under the cover of darkness, a sniper lay in wait for a target. While Leceil paced, he turned just right, and the St. Christopher medal around his neck caught the reflection of a light - pinpointing his location for the sniper.

He still had the St. Christopher medal…carried it with him always. He took it out of his pocket and showed it to me as he recounted the story. Then he pointed to a spot on his head where the bullet had entered, and a spot behind his ear on the other side where it had exited. He said the bullet went in, and instead of going through his brain, it went around it and back out. Uncle Leceil was thoroughly convinced that was an act of divine inter vention, and God spared his life that day. I agree.

Though not a small child, I was still young enough not to fully compre- hend the gravity of what my uncle had gone through for our country - for me. Unfortunately, he passed away before I understood and could thank him for his service.

I have written in past columns about my experiences of accompanying veterans on Hero Flights to Washington, D.C. As I would visit with them and hear their stories, watch their eyes as they would relive moments in time while sharing them with me, I often thought of Uncle Leceil.

I don’t know if they have Bazooka bubblegum in heaven, but if so, I look forward to the day when I share a piece with him.

Today, I say thank you to every American who has served our country. At home, in faraway lands, during wartime or at times of peace…from the bottom of my heart, thank you.