A Eulogy For Veterans Day Norm Kidd    A Eulogy For Veterans Day They come as a platoon . . . less one. Sharp in demeanor, uniform and stature, they are mannerly to a fault. Only half prepared for the death of a comrade, they stiffly, soberly gather as a convocation of gloom at the funeral. Their cadre has been broken by the death of a friend. The kind of man or woman you’ve been bloodied and bruised with; muddied and mused with. In this band, brotherhood is not relative . . . it is earned. It’s their eyes, these darkened pools of midnight that belie their youth. Deep within are battle scenes, played over and over on an opaque screen. They dare not look at one another, knowing if one breaks down they all will follow. Courage is no longer a theory or a moral value to these peacekeepers. They’ve stood shoulder to shoulder in jungles and deserts; they’ve been hip to hip in foxholes and mud holes. They’ve found courage can be more a matter of timing than it is planned; that honor may be more in the nod of a head than in a decoration. I’ve seen them, ramrod straight, in the afternoon sun; bearing several hundred pounds of casket and comrade and am reminded of an oft unremembered text: “ the world was not worthy of them.”