Jun 5, 2012

The Cost

I love Memorial Day.
It is the one parade we do not miss.



During the '80s, Memorial Day meant getting up really early
on a day off of school,
to line up in a skimpy majorette outfit and white boots with orange/blue tassles,
and wait.
Wait with the fire engines and army green vehicles
and those wierd boys in camo carrying a GUN.
 Our small town parade didn't take long to trek
and it always ended at the park where we would fall in line and wait.
Wait while the 1st chair trumpet played taps.
We never could hear what the speaker was saying
what with all the kids running around screaming and playing on the squeaky rocking ducks.
Not that we were at all concerned with the messege.
The worst part for us girls was standing at attention
while those wierd boys loaded their guns and grimmace
during the BOOM... BOOM...BOOM.
 When I no longer marched, Memorial Day weekend
was the big kickoff for those of us in reatail.
It meant swarms of people, opening early, staying open late.
We would anticipate the rush into the store
right after the parade.
It was our opportunity in a seasonal town,
to rake in the money.

One of the finest benefits of teaching children at home
is the opportunity to remember things learned
or learn that which we didn't while growing up.
Some places in time are just more condusive to real learning.


Nathans squadren of Civil Air Patrol
was marching in Holland this year, including adults
so the trio and I held down the curb alone.
 I always get goosebumps as the first veterarns are approaching
and everyone stands up.
The kids at this parade know what they are standing up for
and why they are clapping.


This year we saw friends and kin marching.

Doug was among a few adults with Civil Air Patrol
to walk the sidewalk for the parade route, for the faint factor.
He was moved to tears hearing small kids clap and yell "thank you" to them
thinking they are already active duty.
He felt like they were getting thanked in advanced
for all they will do.

We LOVE us some Willys...of all sizes.








 

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