Link: http://travis.kroh.net/archives/003215.php
I was going to blog this earlier, but didn't, and now seems an appropriate time to share.
Every year, my hometown has a big to-do on Memorial Day. The whole thing is quite a ritual.
There's the downtown ceremony: opening prayer, a couple songs from the school children, a couple selections from the high school band, readings of "In Flanders Fields" and "We Shall Keep the Faith", and a speech by a guest speaker (my Dad had the honors this year) followed by a roll call of the dead. Here, they list the names of every passed member of our community who has served in the armed forces, along with where they're buried. The list takes about twenty minutes, but we listen every year.
Following the ceremony is a parade with several classic cars (one for each war). Veterans climb into their respective car and wave as they drive three blocks of main street. After the parade, everybody goes up to the cemetary for another prayer, the playing of Taps, and a 21-gun salute. Then it's back down to Memorial Hall for a potluck in the basement (except for those in the parade; they all have a free beer together before the potluck, even though it's only late morning). Yes, there's a potluck for the whole town, but that's not nearly as big as it sounds.
It's a interesting event really, and difficult to explain. The feeling is very somber, but in a strange way joyful. It's kind of like Christmas, but scaled up: each year the town comes together and hangs out like a family. Kids come home, everybody dresses nice, and you're reunited with the people you haven't seen for ages. Mixed among the sad poems and names of fallen soldiers are little inside-jokes ("Hey Tim, your old uniform getting a little tight?") and friendly elbow jabs ("I know I should move this along, my wife told me I'd be in trouble if we weren't out of here by eleven"). They've been doing this for over 120 years, and although it's always the same, I go back home every time.
Hey, somebody has to drive the "Desert Storm" car, and hell if some punk thinks he's driving our Monte Carlo.
