Memorial Day

Last night, Evan (my son) and I took a walk after dark - when it was bit cooler. We're in a new neighborhood, so in his 12-year-old mind he insisted on having a flashlight, just in case we got lost. One neighbor was shooting fireworks into the night sky. I explained that they likely went to Wisconsin to get fireworks like that, because in Minnesota the government has decided we're not mature enough to sell big fireworks here.

So we started talking about Memorial Day and what it means to people. I told him how, when I was in ninth through 12th grades, every Memorial Day our high school marching band would get up early, meet in the Junior High parking lot (in uniform) and march two miles to the cemetary just west of town. Along the parade route, people would sit in their lawn chairs and watch the National Guard trucks and jeeps roll by, following by the band, followed by the horse color guard and other Memorial Day-like parade participants.

We would arrive at the cemetary, play a couple patriotic tunes like America the Beautiful, and then watch the flag ceremony. The Legion Hall veterans stood tall (some with larger stomachs hanging over their belts), salute and honor the local veterans who had passed away since last Memorial Day. Then our two best trumpet players would play taps in echo fashion.

I told Evan how then, at age 17, I had little idea what an honor it was to be involved in that ceremony. I was just a kid, with a drum in a band uniform. But years later I recognize that through that music; through the honor that came with marching those two miles on a warm May morning; the veterans from the Legion Hall and others were truly thankful us "kids" were there at the cemetary to recognize their brothers.

I'm glad I made the march as well.

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