There was an editorial in the local newspaper that noted only one in four Americans really knew why we celebrate Memorial Day. Some thought it was just the start of the summer season. Others thought it was to honor our military.
That’s close; but the one in four knew it was specifically to honor our fallen military, those men and women who have given their lives that the rest of us can go about our business. Given there are new names added to the list almost every day, it’s too bad we don’t remember why most of us have the day off. And I’m as guilty as anyone this year.
In the past, Earl and I annually have visited a cemetery and found the grave of a soldier whose death date seems to coincide with one of our country’s numerable wars. We pause to wonder who this person really was, what he would have been doing had he lived, where his remaining family members are today. It’s our version of a national moment of silence, made more personal by focusing on one solder.
But this year, until I read the editorial late tonight, I totally forgot our tradition. It wasn’t that we had a lot of activities planned or that we were out-of-town; rather we were immersed in going out to breakfast, staying cool, watching baseball, and generally enjoying our lot in life. We could have taken time to visit a cemetery — there are several close by — and pause to remember. We didn’t, which puts us in the league with the other three of four who were oblivious. I hope it doesn’t happen again next year.
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