Memorial Day

We could wander, perhaps whistling, past graveyards all over the globe this Memorial Day— in Vietnam; in Europe: France, Italy, England, Belgium; in the Pacific:  Hawaii, Guam, the Philippines; in the Middle East: Iraq, Afghanistan; and in the U.S.: Concord, Valley Forge, Arlington, and so many more. We might pause to ponder the enormity of the sacrifice attached to each one of those ever-so-neatly arranged little white crosses. Row upon row ––– an endless stream of very still, very young Americans. Children who never had the chance to be remembered for their special talents or their craft, or even for their loves and foibles. Special talents and abilities, loves and lovers, follies and foibles – –all those “might have beens” – – were entombed with their young bodies. They sacrificed their all to protect the freedom they’d been raised to hold dear. The very freedom about which we, the living, often so glibly speak, but so seldom actually comprehend.

As we tiptoe by, a chorus of bewildered voices may well up from that hallowed earth to plaintively ask, “Is this what it was all for?” “Is this that for which I laid down the only life I’ve ever had or ever will have? Tell me – - how goes it with my ‘Land of the Free?’ Does the flag I vowed to protect still fly head and shoulders above all others? Does my country remain the Hope of the world? Tell me, please! Though I’ve lost touch, I feel an unease in the land.”

While kindness pleads for a place in my response, a sense of duty and an allegiance to forthrightness ultimately commands the day.

“Although I’ve no desire to alarm you . . . I must report that that very selfsame ‘unease’ of which you speak, is running rampant throughout the land. There’ve been some changes.

The Grand Lady in the harbor –– you know, the one that symbolized that which was best about America? Her once proud head is now bowed in sorrow. She thinks her vision impaired, for she sees less of the familiar landscape that once was  her purview. Rubble stands where once there was life. Yet the leader of the land frolics about, vapidly apologizing to the world for the collective ‘sin’ of our refusal as a nation to allow such transgressions to go unpunished!

Would he transform her into the Harlot of the Harbor? ‘Arrogant’, he calls us! Was it ‘arrogance’, I ask, that provided you your wee slice of eternal foreign real estate? I think not. ‘Twas the currency of your blood that financed the current crop of Freedom – – not just in America, but throughout the world. That is one American currency which must never be devalued”

“Surely you jest!”, say they who’ve given their best. “Change for the sake of change has no value. Has he forgotten our address? Have you all forgotten? The only reason we provide sustenance to French flowers, rather than to the daisies of our mothers’ liking, is our love of that which is quintessentially American: freedom. Given a choice, we’d rest a bit closer to home. But we make no apologies for our addiction to air that is free, to governess that empowers rather than enslaves. We coddle not our enemies. We curry not the favor of the world at the expense of our principles. ‘Don’t tread on me!’ is a way of life, not just an historic slogan!”

Cowed by their vigor, somewhat abashed, I meekly say, “Sorry – - – I guess I let it happen.”

“We ask but one favor….”, say they. “Spread the word: Freedom is never free.”

In solemn and loving memory of those who have provided me my freedom, I spread their word.

7,992 Young Patriots Far From Home

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