Everyday Life: Changed

He stood tall for using a cane. 

Especially when the military band pounded out the first few notes of The National Anthem beneath hazy spring sun. 

I watched him hike up his shoulders a little taller and salute the flag billowing in the warm May breeze, three of his friends all displaying badges of honor across their chests and sporting military hats over grayed hair. 

It was the first time shivers ran up and down my spine, the first time I realized what it meant to live beneath the shadow of the American flag, one I'd spent so much time being embarrassed by as I walked European streets or rocked out at punk concerts. 

After the ceremony ended, I walked my reporter-in-training self over to those men, pen in hand and asked them to share with me their stories. It was the longest, best interview of my reporting career, maybe my life so far.

We stood there together as they divulged their memories and experiences and hearts with a 21-year-old punk who raged against the man without ever really pondering that my freedom to rage was granted by the men and women who gave their lives to their country, my country.

I was probably around your age when I left the states for my tour, one of the veterans had said. I lost a lot of friends ... a lot of my friends died so young for this country ... it changed me.

I walked away from that interview changed, too,  gratitude injected into an ignorant heart. And since I've found myself with tears in my eyes when I see the flag waving and dancing in the air, hear the notes of the anthem or see the uniform-clad bodies of our service people; freedom comes with a hefty price tag, one I'd only remotely experienced through story that day.

After that, I'd always made it a point to call my grandfather, who served in World War II, on both Memorial Day and Veteran's Day, because I wanted him to know on both days I recognized his service and the service of the men and women he served beside who never came home to their families; I wanted him to know I was grateful. He always said thank you but brushed it off as having simply just done what was needed. But I know his time spent serving changed him.

My grandfather during World War II. Photo courtesy of my aunt. 

My grandfather passed away six months ago, leaving the world short of the dwindling few World War II veterans who came home after the war. I watched the flags atop of the mailboxes dance and wave this morning in the breeze and missed him. 

My mind wandered to those men I interviewed all of those years ago, too, curious if they still stand at the ceremony year after year, showing their respect and appreciation for the fallen while demonstrating what it means to stand tall in gratitude to younger watching eyes who have taken our daily lives here in the land of the free for granted. A sense of urgency took over in my heart to share with my own little ones in my house why we slow down today and remember.

There are curious eyes here in my house, wide open and watching. I wanted to take them this morning to see the faces of those who have taught us with their lives what it means to live with gratitude, but they wanted to dig in the dirt with grandma and fish in the lake.

I was frustrated at first, driving alone to the ceremony, thinking about how I wanted them to soak up even the smallest understanding, grow the tiniest bud of appreciation for the freedom they enjoy. 

At the ceremony, though, as I listened and prayed and thanked God for the people who have served, I remembered that freedom affords us choices ... from the freedom of speech and religion and bearing arms ... all the way to the freedom to stay home on Memorial Day and dig in the dirt or fish in the lake when you're 5.5 and 3.5 years old. 

Their days of realization will come. There will be faces who embody the very essence of courage and freedom. What it means to walk in the shadow of the flag, just like the one of the cross, and the freedom each affords will come into the light one day for each of their hearts. 

And they, too, I pray, will walk away changed. 

Thinking, That's All: The Flag

Every year it sneaks up on me.

I don't notice until I'm strolling around the neighborhood the night before Memorial Day, blissfully and ignorantly enjoying the long weekend, that our streets are lined with a plethora of red, white and blue, stars and stripes.

And?

We don't have a flag flying in front of our own house.

Again, I've forgotten to purchase the very symbol used for displaying our gratitude and gratefulness to the service men and women who have laid down their lives for the freedom we enjoy in this country.

It's got to be something like growing up as as the only kid on the block and not having a Christmas tree come December.

Except without the flag and its freedom, a family might not be able to celebrate Christmas or any of the other holidays we embrace during December at all.

So maybe it's a little more than not having a Christmas tree, and I've just never totally verbalized it in my own head before.

But the little things we do in our everyday life and take for granted are wrapped up in the freedom my family so much enjoys. Like just today, and I doubt we even thought about it, we dipped our toes into some of that goodness found wrapped in the freedom our flag proclaims.



We worshiped vividly, sang our hearts out and partook in communion at church ...

and I checked in publicly on Facebook  {because we're allowed Internet access to all sites}

and it wasn't against the law that we were in a place of worship

and I read Time magazine articles criticizing our government

that the United States Postal Service delivered to my mailbox

and E and I went on a walk where we spent most of the time saying aloud "Thank you, God, for ..."

and my neighbors just smiled instead of reporting us to the police.

None of that came without a price; lots, so many men and women have paid it with their lives, with the best of their years spent in service to the citizens who hold tight to this freedom even when they don't realize it.

And I don't even have a flag in front of my house, flying in gratitude because I have the right to have forgotten.

I know the spouses, the children, the mothers, the fathers, the friends of these fallen soldiers haven't had the choice of having forgotten.

I assure you, as I go about my day and the days to come, enjoying my various freedoms however big or seemingly small, I will remember.

And the flag?

It will become a permanent resident standing victoriously, billowing from the steps of our front porch.

Lest we never have the audacity to forget again. 

G., 21 months, Memorial Day Parade, 2009 

Everyday Life: A Day Like Many Others

We didn't do anything special, anything different, today, Memorial Day, than what we normally do when we're all home together on the weekend {ahh blessed weekends!}.

We woke up, ate breakfast and showered.

We watched some George {of the monkey variety}, watered the garden and cut the grass.

G. had a meltdown when he couldn't find his special gardening hat, Baby E. refused to nap without being attached to the breast because his gums hurt and hubby and I vetoed plans to go to the parade.

Everyone adequately recovered from the meltdowns, smiled again and dumped toys all over the living floor shortly after I had rehomed said toys in their boxes.

We had dinner with Grandma and Buba, shared good conversation and cried when they left {well, G. and Baby E. did, at least}.

We laughed and giggled instead of sleeping, I talked to some good girlfriends via Skype and drank some fresh-squeezed lemonade.

Before the kids went to sleep, we prayed for healing, comfort and peace for various life issues our family and friends are facing, praised God for our family and friends and asked that He care for them and we thanked God for all the blessings He's given us and the free land in which live.

And we remembered and were thankful and were humbled by the service and perseverance and sacrifice of all the men and women who have died fighting for and protecting our freedom so that we could wake up today, Memorial Day, and do what we normally do when we're all home together.

G., 21 months, Memorial Day Parade, 2009

**This post is a most fitting repost from last Memorial Day. Because although our activities are different this year, we're still engaging in our activities amid the freedom that's come at a cost.**