...And I was going to visit my father's grave. The (now unrelated) church that shares a parking lot with the cemetery was holding their own memorial Day services and the lot was full. Tomorrow, then.
Dad was a Naval Reservist, having missed WWII service by only a few years. He used to talk about growing up with older brothers serving (Navy), knowing his turn was not far off, that the next step after High School was enlisting. (I always had the impression he was hoping to become a pilot). Didn't happen that way; his next step turned out to be getting married, starting a career and joining the Reserve soon after. As it worked out, my older sister didn't come along until after that obligation was over.
So none of us but Mother have memories of Dad-the-sailor.
There's one citizen-warrior. One of many. One of millions. He didn't do anything especially heroic (unless you count taking on the extra role when he had a new job and a young wife, which I think we'd better) and neither did most of his peers; they went and did their duty. And so did all the guys with medals and the ones without, all the ones who came home injured or hale...or not at all.
The day is for the fallen -- all of 'em, not just the ones they make movies about.
It's not about heroics; it's about service. About going and doing, not sitting home, shirking and taking verbal potshots at those who serve. (Jerks who singled out veterans in the recent DHS report, I'm lookin' at you). Spare 'em a thought this day. Spare 'em some of your time, your words, your actions.
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