I just returned from the annual Memorial Day Services at our local cemetery, in my little town of Jersey
Shore PA (situated in north central Pennsylvania). This year's services were poignant. My favorite uncle,
Jim Mercury, passed away this past March. Uncle Jim was a proud Navy reservist, and a "Tin Can Sailor"
who served in both the Atlantic and Pacific during WWII. For many years, he was an active participant
in the annual Memorial Day services. This year, the Veteran's Council presented a plaque in honor of him
to my cousins, his sons. Memorial Day was always important to my Dad, an Army Veteran, gone now since
1996, as well as this uncle and many others. As a young person, I spent what seemed to me to be way
too many Memorial Days marching up a steep hill in the local high school band, sweltering in a black wool
uniform and standing through what seemed to be interminable speeches. I haven't been to a service for
many years, although, like others in my small town, I make sure all the family graves are adorned with
flowers and looking their best---remembering that this holiday was once "Decoration Day". It was a shock
to see how aged so many of the veterans participating looked. And, of course, the WWII vets are dying
daily. Even the Vietnam Vets (my generation) look older, receding hairlines, paunches, and (on two) still
the long ponytails, under the military cap. I was seated near a grizzled veteran of WWII and Korea,
who muttered under his breath about that 'long hair'. I wanted to turn to him, and remind him (gently)
that regardless of the hair, or lack of it, they are there--just as a few young people in uniform were,
scattered through the honor guard. I saw the Mother of a young man from our church, killed in Kosovo.
I admired her for her ability to endure yet another service. She too was there, giving witness to her history.
Today's service was beautiful. It was quintessential small town--small towns do these things so well--
complete with a combined band--greyhaired former band members mixed in with high school kids, all
wearing (to their relief, I'm sure) polo shirts and pants. The sky was blue, the temperatures were in the
60's, the birds sang and the sun shone. I'll spend the rest of the day doing what I like best--puttering
in my garden, cooking a relaxing meal for my family...but remembering that I can live here, in these
United States, and pursue the career I want, as a female, live the way I wish, worship as I please,
dress as I please, vote for whom I please...because of the sacrifice of so many. Happy Memorial Day!
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