Rose Hills, Memorial Day 2011
I love patriotic songs. I love our flag. I love our country. I admire those who risk their lives for our safety, and grieve for families who lose loved ones in the service of each of us. And I love the many memories that all this patriotism stirs.
My dad choked up when the flag passed by, spent his life savings on fireworks every 4th of July, and served his country as a young teen (enlisted in WWII at 16 years old) and his fellowman for the rest of his life.
My Uncle Phil, born on May 30, Memorial Day of 1926, was a young Navy man in World War II, too. So handsome in his uniform (but aren’t they all). He returned a mature, but always a fun loving, veteran. He probably did as much for my self-esteem as any family member could. Family gatherings were always more fun when Uncle Phil planned them — giant Easter egg and scavenger hunts at the local park. I remember his hand-picked prize hidden for me — Steve Lawrence’s 45 of Portrait of My Love.
His frolicking family rock ‘n’roll band. Considering some family member’s ear for, or lack of, musicality, luckily, the instruments made no noise. Videos, with plays on commercials long before Saturday Night Live came along. Sominex, a sleeping aid, shown to be less addicting than a tablet, was a very large mallet. Family reunions he spearheaded in San Diego. The last year of the reunion held in Mission Bay, I stayed the night with my youngest, then two weeks old — in a tent. That, indeedy, was memorable. Everything he did, he made better or more fun. Of course, not everyone felt that way. A few of the more stuffy folks at church were put back a little when he rode a horse into the Recreation Hall to announce an upcoming event.
I work at instilling an appreciation in my grandchildren for all the efforts of those in foreign lands and in our states who every day work on the behalf of our freedom. When the Bug was barely two, we’d march around the room carrying our nation’s banner while I sang, “You’re a Grand Ole’ Flag.” The tradition continued. Little by little, as his speech and vocabulary continued to grow, he mastered the words. Oddly, as he sang the song, I caught him pointing the end of the staff holding the flag almost in his eye.
“Don’t poke your eye with the stick,” I admonished.
“Grandma,” he answered back, “I’m just keeping my eye on the grand ole’ flag.”
On this Memorial Day, made doubly wonderful, by the memory of my Uncle Phil and all those veterans who have protected our freedom, pray for those serving in the Navy, Army, Air Force, and Marines. And, for your freedom, thank a vet.
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Thanks Penny. That was a really nice story.