It’s Memorial Day Again
Memorial Day: the day to remember those who have died in the service of our nation. As Lincoln said at Gettysburg: “It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.”
Generations are defined by war. The beginnings of Memorial Day were in “Decoration Days” started during the Civil War, when both Northerners and Southerners placed flags and wreaths upon the graves of those lost. After the War, that became a tradition for both sides to, at the beginning of the summer season, decorate graves. In 1860 the population of the United States was just over thirty million; 600,000 died in the war, two percent. (Two percent of today’s population would be almost eight million.) There were plenty of graves to decorate; plenty of veterans to honor. These ceremonies grew into the Memorial Day of today, along with the picnics and the politics that went along, both then and now.
I think of Memorial Day as a day to remember those who I personally knew earned the honor. I think of my parents, part of the Greatest Generation, who lived amazing lives after their War. I think of my friends, who suffered from the effects of their war, Vietnam, for the rest of their lives. And I think of my “kids,” those who I taught and coached in school, who came back from their wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Many of them suffer from the physical and mental effects of America’s long involvement in the Middle East. They all offered their lives up for their country, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.
When I was a young teacher here in Pataskala, Ohio, there was an older man who wandered around town. He wasn’t homeless, but he was of “lost mind.” He walked the streets talking to himself, and the young kids who saw him were scared. Older kids thought he was someone to be made fun of, but the local merchants took care of him. There was always a cup of coffee, or a hamburger available as he wandered from place to place.
I found out his story, eventually. He was a young man, only seventeen, when he volunteered to serve in the World War II Navy. His ship went to the Pacific, and in the midst of battle, was torpedoed and sinking. Somewhere between when the torpedo hit and when he was dragged from the ocean waters several hours later, he had lost his mind.
Young people go to war willing to sacrifice for their nation. They think of death, they think of wounds, of amputations. But they don’t ever think that they could lose what they value most, themselves, and survive. But this young man did.
He lived with family here in town. The kids in town learned his story, and most appreciated the ultimate sacrifice he had made, and more importantly respected his right to be left alone. He was our little town’s Memorial Day, every day.
There are many veterans like him on the streets today. According to Government figures, there are over 40,000 homeless veterans, nine percent of the homeless population. For some homelessness is a choice, made as a result of their service. For most it is a combination of circumstance, disability, and substance abuse. For all it is a lousy repayment for their record of service. For some of us, it may be too much or too scary to directly interact with them, but as we walk quickly past with eyes averted, keep in mind, one in ten fought for us.
It’s Memorial Day. The sun is out, the burgers are on the grill, the beer is cold in the cooler. As we celebrate the beginning of summer and the end of school; remember those we have asked for sacrifice. To quote Hamilton (once again) –
“Raise a Glass to Freedom – Something they can never take away.“
Raise a glass to those who have sacrificed for our freedom. Their service is something that “…can never be taken away.” Then remember them as the friends they were – and drink up. It’s what they would want us to do.
