November 11: On Monday night, I found myself looking around a northbound subway car realizing how very few poppies were on display just 3 days before Remembrance Day. To be fair, most of the other riders were 20- or 30-year-old Asians, South Asians or Blacks. Their heritage may not have even the limited familiarity with Canadian military history as my admittedly sketchy understanding. And it’s doubtful that an old man with a box of poppies around his neck registers as something worth investigating.
Still, past and present generations of Canadians fought and died for a country that now welcomes people from around the world, provides them an opportunity at a better life, and the stability to pursue it. There is perhaps no better example than the current Minister of Defense Harjit Sajjan, a Sikh born in India. As citizens we all need to bear in mind the sacrifices that have been made on our behalf. Our privileged and peaceful life came at a cost and a poppy is but a small, once a year reminder of the sacrifice that was made, and a token of remembrance that should extend throughout the year.
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Perhaps I feel particularly emotional about this issue because of my extended family’s involvement with the Canadian Air Force. My Grandfather flew a Bristol fighter over the Somme in 1917. My Mother and two of her Sisters served as WAF in support of the Air Force. My Uncle was a mosquito pilot, and my Father 
was a Navigator on a Halifax bomber. Despite bomber command being a particularly deadly position during the war, both survived unscathed, although Dad’s plane took flak one night and they were forced to crash land in England. They passed between two trees that took the wings off just before the plane hit the ground and so avoided an explosion. The pilot was wounded but the rest of the crew escaped unharmed. Yet it might easily have turned out differently.
And for so many it did. Remembrance Day reminds me not only of how fortunate my family was, but also of the excruciating loss of so many others. My visit to the Somme last year was a shocking reminder of the tragedy of war. Thousands of men were killed in their prime by following the orders of arrogant and misguided leaders. How so many climbed out of their trenches to face what was almost certain death remains a mystery to me.
Men and women are still serving so that we can enjoy our comfortable lives. Sadly, some will not come home, and others will come home with mental or physical injuries they bear for the rest of their lives. I stand in awe of Romeo Dallair who campaigns tirelessly for those afflicted, as he is, with PTSD. We owe them the resources and support they need for a full recovery. Anything less is unjust.