Oh to be part of a coddled and privileged generation, floating through our war-eligible years without getting called up stands as quite a boon (for myself and country alike). Because, if a doubt exists in your mind that I would not be the Saving Private Ryan guy frozen and crying in the stairwell, remove it now. And, while I know I can make observations on Western Front like "he made it feel like you were right in the fracas" or "boy, I can just hear the tanks chugging over the hill", I cannot forget that I offer this learned opinion reading, writing and sitting in my chair and a half, fire popping in the hearth and gulping peanut m&m's by the gross. So, for us layman, this compact story of one man's war-time experience presents a concise glimpse into a life that is not our own. And, if nothing else, assures us that it is not a romantic or heroic life, just one rife with fear, agony and the desperate drive to survive. But, on the other hand, if you polled the average American, many would report similar emotions in their daily machinations, the only difference being one is justified and one is not. And, no matter who or how many people would argue the point of relativity, it is not, in any way, relative.

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