MEMORIAL
DAY
I’m
wearing my uniform to the parade next Monday. I recently had every seam in the
old fabric let out a bit so that it could reconform to my mid-life mid-section.
I carefully stitched its frayed patchwork of emblems and ensignia back
tight to the sleeves and over the breast pocket. I borrowed Ellen’s silver
polish and went to work on my old brass belt buckle next.
When I had finished sewing, cleaning, and pressing every last piece of
khaki issue, I hung the entire uniform on a single hanger, back of my closet
door, and just looked at it for a while. The medals and badges reminded me of
all the work that went into their achievement, the obstacle courses, lousy camp
rations, hours of marching, early reveilles and late, rainy nights talking about
our loved ones back home inside our wet canvas tents.
I
remember a Memorial Day many years ago when I wore my uniform for the first time
in my hometown parade. I was so
proud of the way I looked in it as we marched up the short country road from
Highland High School to the tiny Fairview Cemetery in Granger. The marching band
was sweating through Sousa that warm May morning, as we marched purposefully,
eyes front, one, two, one, two, left, right, left… When we approached the
cemetery gates, the music stopped, and the percussion continued to keep the beat
alone, flat sticked on metal rims. We took our place on the sloping ground near
the road, and our platoon leader ordered us to “rest”. I don’t remember
who the speaker was that Memorial Day, but I do remember one thing he said.
“These uniformed men with us today who are living, are also worthy of our
praise and our thanks.” I remember feeling special at that moment, worthy of
the admiration of my hometown, a true, young American.
Thirty years later, we will march up that same country road, and allow the long echoing rim shots of the drums to lead us into the cemetery. But this will be a different Memorial Day. Since we last marched at the apex of the Vietnam conflict, and through today’s confusing war in Kosovo, and shootings in Colorado, there has been a change in the way people look at war, guns, and uniforms. And there will be one other difference, the speaker, asked to summarize what Memorial Day means in at the end of the millennium, is me. And that is why it’s important to me to wear again the old uniform I’ve worked so hard to preserve, the uniform of the Boy Scouts of America. The uniform which made me proud to be a young American boy in an organization which offered me dignity, respect, and discipline when I needed it most. Scouts taught me to believe in peace through cooperation with others, and in respect for every other person through the laws of scouting, and the precepts of God. If you’re heading to a parade Monday, please take the kids. It’s good for them to be around heroes right now.