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  • Memorial Day…

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    It was the late 60’s.

    The most important things in my world were my bicycle, Shakey’s Pizza, and committing my multiplication tables to memory so the teacher wouldn’t frown at me. Television had three channels – on a good day – and it came at you from behind a wall of staticky snow on a thirteen inch, black & white Philco with tin-foil molded around the rabbit ear antennae.

    Yeah. Back then they made foil out of tin instead of aluminum. Probably because it was a better conductor for the airwaves and they knew damn well that just as much of it would be used as antenna boosters as it would be for wrapping foodstuffs.

    So, that was my world, living in that little house on Baltimore Avenue.  However, on a daily basis I heard about a place called “Vietnam”. It was a faraway land. The ghostly TV screen images of newscasters like Walter Cronkite told me all about it, and convinced me that it was someplace I never wanted to go.

    Then, one morning, my mother was opening the drapes on our front windows. As they slid apart she gasped, then muttered, “Oh no…”

    My father joined her at the window and his expression turned grim. Being a kid, I had to know what had elicited such a reaction from my parents. I ran to the window and peered out. What I saw didn’t fit with the way they were acting – at least, it didn’t to my young mind. But then, I didn’t understand what I was seeing and I hadn’t lived through the things my parents had.

    The tableau on the other side of the picture window was normal as far as I could see. The street. The houses. Nothing had changed. The only difference I could detect was the dark blue, four door sedan parked in front of the house across the street. On close inspection, one could see some official looking words stenciled on the driver’s side door, although they were unreadable at this distance. The only other things out of place besides the car were the two solemn looking men in uniform standing on our neighbor’s front porch.

    Back then, I didn’t understand. There are those times now that I wish I still didn’t. But, I am also thankful that I do.

    Yesterday I posted a Facebook status update lamenting the fact that I hadn’t yet written my Sunday morning blog entry, and wondering at what the subject should be. I received many suggestions, most of which will probably end up as future entries. However, when I sat down to pen this one something dawned on me…

    I have an uncle buried at Jefferson Barracks Cemetery. He saw action with the Navy in Korea. I have a great uncle who saw action in Korea as well. My grandfather was in the National Guard during WWI. My father-in-law was in the National Guard. At least one of EKay’s uncles saw action in WWII.

    I have an uncle who was in Vietnam. I have friends who were in Vietnam. I have friends who were deployed during Desert Shield and eventually, Desert Storm. I have relatives who pulled multiple tours in Iraq. I have friends whose children – kids that I watched grow up at our weekend BBQ’s and float trips – who have seen action in Iraq and Afghanistan.

    Friends in the Air Force. A nephew who was a Marine. A nephew who is going into the Air Force…

    The list goes on, and on…

    So, today, instead of writing something funny, I thought maybe I’d take a moment to say thanks to all of my family, friends, and everyone else in uniform who is separated from me by a mere six degrees… I may not always agree with the reason behind a given war, (conflict, or whatever they may want to call it), but I’m thankful for those who defend my right to be funny the other 364 days out of the year.

    More to come…

    Murv

    • Great post, Murv. Thank you.

      Over the past few days, I’ve seen a lot of posts on FB about the chaos of the younger set partying, since Memorial Day coincides with the end of school and the beginning of the summer. While there is nothing wrong with tipping back a cocktail now and again, I think it is truly important to remember those who have served our country and frequently paid in blood. After all, it is called Memorial Day for a reason.

    • Thanks, Star…

      I was actually a little surprised at that memory resurfacing after all these years, but it did. And, at the time I really didn’t fathom what was going on.

      These days, my own sister works for the Army, handling notifications and grief counseling for the families. I’ve seen her sitting in my dining room on a Christmas Eve with a cell phone up to each ear and two pagers laying in front of her vibrating across the table… I don’t know how she does it.

      But, I’m definitely thankful for it – and everyone else out there who steps up.

    • I’ll be visiting the brother of a friend at our local veterans cemetery tomorrow. She’s in Colorado and asked that I go by and say hi and tell him that she’ll be home soon. My grandfather has a lot of friends who’s final resting places are under crosses at Omaha beach. He’s one of the lucky ones… Thank you for that moment of reflection. Happy Memorial Day.

    • So right you are. Murv. There are those who seem to believe that if the soldiers just refused to fight all would be Candyland. But the reality is that the cause of freedom will forever need brave men and women to risk life and limb in its defense. Regardless of the cause, those who serve deserve our respect and admiration not just on one day but every day. God bless them and America.

    • Thanks for making me cry… thank you even mor for making me remember…

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