Groundhog Day, February 2, 2026, is my sixty-fifth birthday, and I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, I am thankful to be alive and for all the good things I have. I have lived longer than many of the people I have known, and despite the hardship I experienced along the way, things are generally good. At the same time, I am feeling bummed because I learned of the senseless and untimely death of a young man in Ukraine whose name was Kirill. He was killed in action serving in the Ukrainian Army in the ongoing war with Russia. He was twenty-four years old. He was conscripted into military service at nineteen and survived many battles before his luck ran out. I only knew him remotely through my fishing buddy Colin, who was one of many of Kirill’s friends. I learned about Kirill, his background, and character through conversations with Colin and the photos and videos he shared with me. Kirill was a fine young man who withstood the privations and stresses of compulsory military service in a useless war over a territorial dispute. What bothers me about his death, beyond the fact that he was so young and had his whole life ahead of him, is that looking back on my life, I served as a volunteer in the Canadian Army at his age. At the time, I thought military service would be an adventure. My grandfathers and great-uncles served in the Canadian Army and the Royal Canadian Navy during the Second World War. They had a sense of duty and volunteered. One of my great-uncles was killed in France during the battle for Caen. He is buried in the Commonwealth War Cemetery in Calais. I also had a sense of duty. I served for 4 years as a reservist from 1978 to 1982, and I was free to leave the service at any time. I was mustered out after 4 years, and that completed my brief, undistinguished stint of military service.