This morning Kids 3 and 4 sang at a Memorial Day program in our town. Kid 3 had a solo, and despite her pretty nasty cold, she rocked it. The program was lovely, with Service Veteran speakers and good music. You know when they play the “theme songs” of each military branch and the veterans from that branch stand up, and we sing along and I cry? That happened today. And right after that, there was this totally awesome and pretty cheesy flashmob thing of “Proud to be an American” which, remarkably, also made me cry. Possibly because I have that particular string which, when pulled by that particular song, always makes me cry.
I tried to remember the best stories to tell my kids about their grandpas who served in the military. They remember Grandpa Wright’s 21 gun funeral salute. Uncle Jim (my great uncle) was a pilot in WWII, and he had an awesome flag tattoo on his arm that he always let me inspect. Aunt Ruth, his knockout blonde wife, was a nurse and worked with the USO and wore a red dress and stole his heart. Grandpa Billy (Husband’s paternal) did a Pacific tour, about ten minutes after he got married. He came home and met his son. Fertility, it seems, runs in families. Grandpa Bolton (Husband’s maternal) was in Hawaii during Pearl. During his Pacific tour, he sent his petite wife coded messages where predetermined “relative’s” names corresponded with locations he couldn’t mention in plain language. My daddy served as a chaplain / colonel here and there much of my life — mostly here, but for a year of my babyhood in Korea (after the Korea conflict, because, hi, we’re not that old). When we go anywhere remotely military in nature, people salute him. It’s proud-making.
What did you have cause to remember today?