It's About Gratitude

When my brother signed up for the service in the midst of his senior year, I had mixed emotions of dread and annoyance.  I was twenty years old and engulfed in my own selfish pursuits and couldn't quite wrap my head around my little brother's decision.  Foreign affairs were growing tense at the time, though I gave little attention to it, but in the air, even the apathetic could feel that war was coming.

Being only two years apart (to the day as we share the same birthday), it is likely I couldn't have persuaded my brother had I tried.  I feared for him, but it was more of a selfish fear of having to dedicate my mind and thoughts to deeper things than my romantic ponderings.  So I largely ignored the sacrifice that he faced as he went off to boot camp and then on to Germany, and after 9/11, Iraq.  I was managing a shoe store, bought a new car, was getting married.  It didn't mesh with my mentality- to think about what he was doing "over there" while I was here, obliging the pursuit of happiness.

So when Memorial Day and Fourth of July come around, I feel unworthy to hold in honor men I don't know, when one that I do know received very little support from me during his time of sacrifice.  But now I understand it is my duty.  They are men and women who are taken for granted, misunderstood, and neglected.  The bravery and the sacrifice they offer is beyond what I can comprehend.

Last year I took my children to a Memorial Day Parade.  We clapped for the service men and women and the parade was over in no more than five minutes.  We had enticed the kids along through their morning routine with the dangling of excitement over a parade, and lips started to tremble when we told them it was over and time to go home.  Nobody tossed any candy.  There weren't any marching bands or floats.  It wasn't the parade they were promised.  As I tried to ward off their tears, I began explaining that "this parade was never about us," and I found myself grasping that truth for the first time.  It was never about me, or my kids.  It's always been about something much bigger.  What they- those service men and women- stand for is something much bigger.  It's freedom, it's country, it's sacrifice.

My job is gratitude.

With Memorial Day approaching, I found myself asking which parade would be best to attend this year, recalling the disappointment from the past year.  It became very clear to me where we belonged.  Not at some big extravaganza, but the same parade that will likely draw even less of an audience this year.  This year, as a family we have been working on tokens of appreciation to hand to the soldiers, because I don't want my kids to be confused about why we came.  We aren't coming for entertainment or to get candy, but to give thanks, small as it may seem in light of what we received in return.

On Monday, take the time to go to a parade or a Memorial service.  When those men and women march by, clap for them.  When your hands get tired, keep clapping, because when they were tired they didn't have a choice to stop.  And when your hands hurt from clapping, push yourselves to clap a little louder, because many of them pressed on in pain.  And it's okay to tear up when you think about the ones that never got the opportunity to march.  That is what you are supposed to do.