"Grandma, who was the greatest man you've ever met?"
"Your grandfather, Johnathan. Isn't that obvious?"
The little boy suppressed a giggle.
"Oh, alright, You got me. It was…"
The old woman sat, pondering. She was arthritic, legs barely mobile, but her face was bright, the only visible wrinkles the shadows of old smiles.
"It was…"
She didn't like to remember this anymore.
"A man."
"What was his name?"
"He didn't…he didn't have one, Johnathan."
"Didn't his parents give him one?"
"He didn't have any."
"But that's stupid! Everyone has parents!"
"He was different. I suppose he did have a father, but that was complicated."
"What was so complicated? Didn't he love his dad? That's what sons are supposed to do, right?"
"He…I don't know if he loved him or not. In the end he might have."
"What made him so great? What did he do?"
"He was a soldier. He fought."
"Did he kill people?"
"Yes, he did. Many, many, many people."
"I thought that was bad."
"It is, but he was willing to do it, to do anything. I guess that was why he was so great."
"Why haven't I ever heard of him?"
"Because he didn't want anybody to."
"Didn't he want to be famous?"
"He didn't want to be famous. He didn't even have a name to be famous for."
"He sounds weird."
The old woman gave a little smile.
"He was, in his own way."
The little boy was quiet for a moment.
"I have to go, grandson. I'll be back in a little while."
She grabbed her cane and hobbled out the door, leaving the perplexed child to wait for his father.
It took her forty-five minutes to walk to her destination, and she was fighting for breath. As she approached the little tablet, she reached into her thin coat and pulled out a handgun.
There was nothing special about it. No engravings, no great story. Just a pistol.
Her knees crackled as she leaned down and laid it gently at the foot of the stone.
The tombstone read, "Above and beyond the call of duty"
There were no dates, no names, no flowers.
She rose, huffing for breath, and gave a tremulous salute.