Normandy and me.

Years back, Ogilvy sent me to France to learn French.

 It was a total immersion school and I lived in Lisieux, France for four months before joining O&M in NYC.

During that time, while in school, I traveled to Normandy on weekend jaunts with classmates. Each and every time, every place I visited (restaurants, hotels, shops, museums), the French people that I met thanked me and acknowledged the sacrifice that our soldiers had made on their soil to fight Hitler’s troops. They had never forgotten.

Visiting the beaches of Normandy and the fields of white crosses that stand in tribute to our fallen soldiers, I was stunned at the magnitude of the loss.

Growing up, this was not something that I carried in my mind or heart. In fact, I’d been sheltered from it. As a WWII vet, my father did not want to talk about the war, and it was only when he entered hospice that I found his many medals and letters from that time.

Now, with the gifts of time and insight, I see the enduring scars of war more clearly. My gratitude to those who fought, and to those that remember their selfless courage, has never been stronger.