For me, it's my Dad's dress uniform on my living room wall. He served just under three years in the South Pacific as a "ground pounder" in the U.S. Army Armor division, 754th Tank Battalion. He was a Tank Commander, Platoon Sergeant. He and the Battalion started in New Caledonia; then on to Guadalcanal, arriving just after the initial beachhead; Bougainville; then on to Luzon, Philippines for it's invasion and liberation.
Along side is my Grand Fathers WWI uniform, of whom I am also proud. Serving in France for over a year in the U.S. Army 322nd Field Artillary.
Perhaps the most important treasure were his stories of the war. The ruthlessness of the enemy, the hot steamy jungle and being "buttoned up" for long periods of time. The friendly Filipino people, who wanted to share what little they had. Dad spoke little about the war, even when asked directly. It was only when he met with his fellow battalion servicemen at one of the yearly reunions would you hear the real story. It was like these others guys were the only people on earth who knew what you knew. Who saw what you witnessed, and understood the agony of war and the pain from the conflict. His silence was deafening to those that knew him. May I suggest that if there is anyone who you know that is able to relate their story PLEASE ask them and copy it down. You will be glad you did when time takes it's toll.