Good evening,
I just got home, and couldn't let the day pass without saying a few words about Veteran's Day. When I was at work, I was thinking about what I'd say, I decided not to make yet another statement against the war, by now anyone who has read some of my blog entries, knows how I feel about it.
Instead, I'd like to tell you a story about how I've come to view Veteran's Day through the years, I hope you don't mind, and hope you enjoy my story, it comes from my heart with all the respect due to those who gave of themselves in the service of our great nation.
I salute them all, and say thanks.
In my family, Veteran's Day usually meant flying the flag proudly, lots of food, visits to my uncle's houses, lots of smiles, hugs, and stories. It was a day long event.
From all of us kids, I was the only one my uncles wouldn't shoo off with a "go play", they'd let me sit there with them listening to their stories while they reminisced about friends they had known, places they'd seen, and things they had done when they were off to war.
Sometimes I'd notice their laughter near the end of a story trail off, a change in the tone of their voice, and maybe the occasional break in their words like they were trying not to cry.
I remember one time grabbing one of my uncle's hands, asking if he was feeling sad, even now I remember that big ol' face of his, when he said "no, I was just remembering a good friend, and was thanking him for making it possible for me to be here right now with you." I said, "wow, musta been a good friend, I thank him too", to which my uncle said, "I'll bet he heard that and it made him happy"
If I think about it, I can still feel the rib crushing hug my uncle gave me.
Later in the day, the family would make a trip to the neighborhood cemetary to pay our respects to family members, many of whom I never met, but felt a connection to when I saw the family names carved in big letters on the stones. Generations of my family are there, many of them having served in our nation's military.
I still remember the grandmas with buckets in hand, filled with items to clean the stones and sites, they never would let one of us carry those buckets for them, my guess is that they felt it was important they did it themselves. I still see the serious looks on their faces while they walked together.
We, the kids, would carry little American flags, or a drawing we had made, we'd place those little flags to the right of the stone, after the grandmas had done their good work.
Looking at the words carved before me, I noticed that beneath the names, there were also letters and numbers, some sort of strange code that didn't make any sense to me, my uncle explained that it meant they were a soldier, the letters and numbers were there so that other soldiers would know what they had done.
I noticed a grave on the row behind my family member, it also had letters and numbers, it looked very old, the stone needed cleaning, with grass growing high along it's bottom edge. I asked my uncle if that man was a soldier, as he had the numbers and letters too, my uncle said "yes, he was, he served in the Second World War, see where it says?"
I saw.
I remember looking around the scene, the uncles going from site to site, taking a knee, saying a few words, the grandmas busy with their cleaning, the aunts trying not to speak too loudly when they tried to calm down my cousins who were running about the place.
One of the grandmas stopped to rest, leaving her bucket unattended, I walked over to it, grabbed her little clippers, a towel and spray bottle.
I looked back at that unkept grave in the row behind my family member, and thought how lonely it looked. I don't know why I thought that, maybe it was just seeing all of the attention paid to those from our family.
I walked over, slowly, standing there for a moment, reading the stone, then taking a knee, and saying a few words as I had seen my uncles do.
I remember not knowing what to say, so I just said something like "Hi, I know you don't know me, but you looked lonely, and I hope you don't mind me coming over to fix ya up a little, it's Veteran's Day".
When I finished cleaning, I took the little flag I had saved in my pocket for myself, and placed it to the right of the stone.
My uncles saw what I had done, meeting me as I walked back to rejoin the family, giving me pats on the back, and an arm around my shoulder, with one of my uncles saying "that's a nice thing ya did kid, you got a good heart".
I remember the walk back to the car, us leaving that site with so much of my family's history, seeing our name carved over and over in so many places, I remember seeing that lonely grave too, looking a little less lonely with that little flag waving in the breeze.
Each year, when Veteran's Day comes around, that's the memory I think of, that one day out of so many years, the first time I placed a flag on that lonely grave after paying my respects to my family members.
It was the last time the family still had all of the uncles and both grandmothers.
Though years have passed since that day, my grandmothers and many of my uncles gone, and me moved away from the neighborhood, I hear some of the family still make that yearly Veteran's Day trip to pay their respects.
About that lonely grave, it's not forgotten, I've been told a family member puts a flag on it each year, caring for the site like they're one of our own.
None who served our country and gave so much should be forgotten.
I hear it's now my second cousin, grandson to the uncle who told me it was nice thing I did so many years ago, who puts the flag each year. Perhaps in time the duty will be passed to his son, and grandson? If not, then maybe mine.
It makes me smile to think.
So, here it is September 15th, and only now have I been able to put my thoughts together enough to say a few things about the sixth Annniversary of September 11th. On that day, I watched the news rebroadcast from that morning in 2001, watched a couple of documentaries, and just basically sat wondering what I could say that I haven't already said in years past. It wasn't until just a few moments ago when I found a song called I Grieve, by Peter Gabriel, that I found my inspiration to talk about it today. When looking for a good picture of the World Trade Center, I came across this picture of Manhatttan from the view of the Brooklyn Bridge taken by an artist named Henri Silberman, it's amazing, how could I ask for better than this view? I have a feeling that it is this picture that will replace the view I see in my mind when I think of home.
