Memorial Day

On Friday we had some issues in my classroom. To begin, Miguel decided to talk during the moment of silence after the Pledge of Alligence. So I had to explain, very loudly, to him and the whole class, why we stand up to say the Pledge and why we have that moment. He looked shameful but I'd bet a few bucks he'll do it again. Apparently Angela's class heard my little rant all the way down the hall in her room too!

Then later in the day we were talking about having no school today and Eric says what's Memorial Day? So we had a discussion about all the people who have given their lives for the sake of safety and trying to secure peace in the world. We also talked about all the people serving in the war right now. So at least we had a good talk about it. But I find it hard to believe that my students have made it through over six years of public school without knowing these things. Selective attention I guess.

For me this Memorial Day is different but I can replay ones of past in my mind very vividly and I miss them. I have been having a touch of homesickness this weekend, added to the overwhelmed feeling of having so much work and school responsibilities to keep up with. But I finished week one of my online grad class and am feeling better about that, finally.

Memorial Day for me will always be a cool, usually rainy day in Michigan. We park at Grandma MacDonald's and walk to the parade route. We'll follow the high school band and the VFW cars and the mayor and the brownies and boy scouts into the cemetery. We walk past the graves of my great grandparents and too many friends, young and old. We stop near the lake where a row boat is going into the middle, getting ready to scatter flowers and lay a wreath. I look to the hill at my left, baby land, where my twin brothers are buried under a stone marker, Thomas and Christopher. The flowers are freshly planted and I always have to go brush off the nut casings the squirrels leave there. Just above them lies my mom's baby brother, more flowers.

If I stop I hear the sound of speeches, thanking our veterans, thanking those who gave the ultimate sacrifice. I will see families who lost loved ones in every war anyone here has lived through. I can see the family who lost their son just a few years ago in Iraq. I see the members of the VFW who keep the memory alive. Then I hear that song. Taps. That mournful, heart-wrenching song. If I look around where we stand there are friends, friends we always see here. Families who feel as strongly as we do about the importance of remembering this day. My grandfather served in the Navy, another grandfather and grandmother in the Army , my dad served in the Air Force, my friends are in the Marines and the National Guard. We know how important this is. Then we hear the gun shots. The twenty-one gun salute. It's loud and I wince every single time. But I know I am fortuante to only hear gunshots on this day, in this manner. I can do this because of those women and men who died for our country.

If I look past baby land to the next hill, I see the large stone with the antique cars carved in the front. There lies my grandfather. The little flag flying against his stone marks his status as veteran. There are daffodils and lilies and little purple flowers mixed with snapdragons that we plant just where grandma wants them.

This place, what it represents, is ingrained in me. This weekend I have missed planting the flowers, pulling the weeds, cleaning off the stones, filling the plastic milk jugs with water from the spicket to carry across the road. I have missed that familiar exercise in showing my appreciation and sadness.

I miss it but it's in my heart. It always will be.