I believe the year was 1992—though forgive me if I’m off by a year or two. At the time, I was a federal civil servant, and our local office had been asked to provide a specialist in tax law for a live appearance on what was then a fairly obscure cable TV channel. The program was to be broadcast live, featuring call-in questions from viewers during the one-hour segment.

Because I had a media background prior to joining government service, local management selected me to fly east and appear at a Washington, D.C. television studio. It would be my first visit to our nation’s capital, and I didn’t know if I’d ever have another opportunity to return.

Since the program aired in the evening, the government allowed me to spend the night in Washington and return home the following morning. My flight was scheduled for mid-morning—but there was one experience I knew I had to have before heading to the airport.

I wanted to see the Vietnam War Memorial.

Though I never served in Vietnam, I came very close. I was eligible for the draft during the first year of the draft lottery system. My number was 175, and that year the military only called up to number 125—so I was not selected for service.

Still, many men close to my age did serve. Several of my college classmates attended school thanks to the GI Bill. Their experiences were real, and their sacrifices significant.  I learned a lot from them

It was a damp, drizzly October morning when I rose early and walked several blocks from my hotel to the Memorial. The early hour meant I was alone. The Pentagon was close enough that I saw a military officer jogging nearby; he gave me a friendly wave. He had likely seen many people my age visiting the Memorial at that hour. I was just the latest.

It was a deeply moving moment—quiet, solemn, and powerful.

Every society has its own way of memorializing the fallen. In the United States, what we now call Memorial Day began in 1868 as Decoration Day, a time to honor Civil War dead by decorating their graves. I remember my relatives referring to it as Decoration Day when I was a child.

After World War I, the tradition expanded to include American casualties from all wars. That continued after World War II. In 1967, Congress officially changed the name to Memorial Day, and in 1971, the date was moved from the traditional May 30 to the last Monday in May, creating a federal holiday.

I credit the City of Fishers for making a special effort to honor those who have served in America’s military. The city formed a commission to plan and organize events for days like this. I normally attend the elaborate Memorial Day ceremony in Fishers, but this year I couldn’t be there in person. At age 73, I’m finding it a bit harder to cover everything happening in our active community.

This day is a time to honor those who made the supreme sacrifice defending our nation. Just as importantly, it is a time to honor the families they left behind.

Since that first trip in the early ’90s, I’ve had the opportunity to visit Washington, D.C., several times. And each time, without fail, I find a way to return to the Vietnam War Memorial. It remains a special place, honoring special people—many from my generation.