The opportunity to wake up in my own home, after a night in a warm, clean, bed.
The ability to feed my children plentiful amounts of good, fresh food.
The right to drive freely in my own car, to my son's school, to leave him for a day of education in a safe, friendly government school.
To know that, while at school, my son would be treated exactly like every other child in attendance.
The opportunity to wash my own dishes, hang out my clean washing in the sunshine, and pick up the many toys my children possess, in my own time, in my own house.
The freedom to watch whatever I choose on the television, and read whatever I please in the newspaper (assuming, of course, that I agree to Dora on the box and to ignore my newspaper for three days of course...)
The right to walk down the street as I choose, without fear of reprisal or hate.
The chance to explain to my five year old son, the meaning of the poppy pinned to his school shirt. To tell him the story of his great-great-grandfather, who fought in the first World War, and who saw things I hope my son never does.Who came home to become a gentle, kind, wonderful father to my grandfather.
The ability to live in a town where I am not afraid of the police, or the rules. Where I am not afraid of someone coming to take my children away. Where I will not lose my house or my possessions because of my beliefs. Where I will not be persecuted for the colour of my skin, or my religion.
The opportunity to say thank you, again and again, to the many thousands of men and women who gave their lives so that we might live peaceful, safe lives. The opportunity to say thank you, again and again, to the many thousands of men, women and children who gave their fathers, brothers, husbands, uncles, nephews, grandfathers, friends, and possible futures, so that we might live as we do today. And to apologise, that for their sacrifice, they might be left with only memories.
These are the things I am grateful for, on this Remembrance Day. Lest we forget.