I saw a Holiday note this morning that showed a prominent politician eating an ice-cream cone. The caption- it was from one of the parties, of course- wished me a “Happy Memorial Day.”
I have done the same thing- said the same words, though I don’t eat as much ice cream as I used to. I typed the phrase this morning and realized how truly appalling it is.
I go to Arlington on the Memorial Day weekend. I think it is important to pay a small tribute to those I knew in life, and that is the reason for the Holiday, after all. I have been writing a lot of stories about the Civil War. I am blessed to have had some colorful family members in that conflict, and who lived to tell their tales.
So many did not. So many, in fact, that the total number of military deaths in all other conflicts in which America has fought did not equal the number killed in the Civil War until late in the Vietnam conflict.
So, rather than be a grump about a holiday that has its roots in sorrow, but now is the unofficial commencement of summer, with leisure and pleasurable activities abounding, I try to keep my perspective and take flowers to Arlington National Cemetery.
There are a lot of other people who do the same thing.
Rolling Thunder is in town for the ride through the capital, and there were thousands and thousands of them packed with their motorcycles into Pentagon North Parking.
I snuck in the back gate, the one that opens into the controlled territory of Fort Myer to avoid the throng at the ceremonial entrance. I drove down the long slope, past all those stones: uniformly white, in crisp sight-lines and stupefying numbers.
I visited Vince and Dan first in Section 64, since the marches from the Old Post Chapel to the then-newly excavated graves were the saddest I have experienced.
Then Scotty, in Section 60, best damn fighter pilot who ever lived. His stone is up now, and I think he would have approved of it. They are letting the families put a phrase of remembrance on the stones now. I think that is a good thing, and I made a note to think about what to put on mine.
Finally section 66, and the resting place of a truly Great American: our pal Mac and his beloved wife Billie.
I gave all of them the best salute I can render these days, and left red carnations to brighten the pallor of the eternal stones.
I was comforted by it. And now I can relax, and have a happy weekend. I hope you do as well, but please, remember. We owe it to them.
Copyright 2015 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303