Flying Black Aces

The Tuskegee Airmen have always been honored in my family and now they will be honored with invites to the inauguration.

Good.

My grandfather was a B-17 pilot in WWII. He flew more bombing raids in Europe than the Memphis Belle.

During one raid, his plane got pretty beaten up. And by beaten up, I mean a giant hole blown out of his fuselage. A division of the Tuskegee Airmen called the Flying Black Aces saved him. They escorted his limping plane to safety over liberated France and told him it was safe to take the plane down.

My grandfather begged them to escort him to England because if he didn't make it home to base, his wife would get an MIA and he didn't want her to go through that.

So at great personal risk, the Flying Black Aces got my grandfather and his crew safely home.

For love. And out of love.

My grandfather said until the day he died that if he ever met one of those men, he would "kiss their ass in Macy's windows."

He's gone now so those fine gentlemen are safe from my grandfather's lips but I continue his pledge to honor those gentlemen by thanking every military person I meet for their service.

And thank you again gentlemen for saving my grandfather. Without you, my father, myself, and my children might never have been born.

For our country and for my family, your heroism has had lasting impact.