Nah, it's good stuff.
I don't have a lot of familial connection to being deployed. I guess my uncle was stationed in France well before I came around. Mom tells a few stories about that, but not much. And that was a time of peace. My dad and his dad both worked for all(?) of their respective careers working for the Navy, though neither one of them wore a uniform. Well, Dad was a scoutmaster, but that's not part of this ramble.
Even though I didn't have an empty seat at the table, I grew up in a Navy town, and Dad put food on our plates with a Navy paycheck. Many of my high school classmates ended up working for the military in one way or another.
I was in the high school ROTC, for goodness sakes. Granted, it was a dodge to avoid having to take a real P.E. class, but I had a certain amount of exposure to Military History, Chain of Command, and Mahan's Theory of Sea Power
I guess a little bit rubbed off on me, for all my long-hair rebel ways.
I clearly remember seeing the Viet Nam War memorial in December of 1988. I think I also saw it in July of 1985, but that memory is less clear. Years later, I saw the WWII memorial and certainly any number of Civil War and even Revolutionary War markers, but those weren't as profoundly moving as that night in 1988 had been for me.
Random somewhat maudlin observation: Grampa spent an important part of his career welding warships together, and eventually succumbed to the effects of the asbestos that was used at that time. Dying at home of lung cancer after a career working in a shipyard isn't the same thing as taking enemy fire in a middle-east counterinsurgency operation, I know.
In memory of those who have served and have died.