Memorial Day 2011.
Last night I received a text from my dad asking us to join him at a local cemetery for Memorial Day.
You see, while my dad has always been patriotic, he has recently joined a motorcycle club consisting of veterans and police officers. In the last few months this group has been making appearances at the funerals of fallen soldiers to show their support and to keep protesters at bay, in a peaceful manner. It is important that you understand I have no patience for people that protest a funeral no matter whose it is. My Grandfather was a Marine and I have a cousin that is a Marine. I have had friends and family that have served my our country my entire life and I have always been taught to respect them.
Today was a day that left me speechless, breathless, in tears of appreciation. We saw the American flag raised to half-mast by a local boy scout group. The National Anthem was sung, not over-done by some celebrity, but by a 13-year-old girl who sung from her heart. We heard stories from soldiers and about soldiers. We said the pledge of allegiance and no one protested the use of “Under God” when we all used it. Prayers were said, and we used “in Jesus name” and “Amen” and it did not offend those fallen soldiers that lay six feet below our feet. It left me wondering if someone miles away was honoring my own Grandfather’s grave the way we stood above these complete strangers.
I looked at the headstones of these fallen veterans and I was amazed by what I saw. You see, this was a local cemetery and many of the deceased did not die in battle. Many fought for this country and then made it back to their families to develop the towns and cities I have lived in for the last twenty years. What truly amazed me was that so many of these soldiers were not natural born Americans. The dozens of graves that surrounded me were of Greek immigrants. They came to America to make a better life for themselves and their families. They were so confident in this great new land that they risked their lives for it. The man that lay below my feet had received a purple heart in WWII, he and his wife were born in Greece. A veteran a few feet away was from Korea.
What kind of an America have we turned this country into? I am a natural born American. My ancestors came from many countries, I couldn’t even tell you exactly how many. The fact of the matter is, those men who passed away so many years ago are my family, they made me what I am today.
You see, in America, we do not have dual-citizenship. African-American, Mexican-American, Irish-American, Italian-American, they simply do not exist. Your family can come from wherever they were born, but if they came to America, it was for one purpose. America is the great melting pot for nationalities. Well, I am an American. My blood relations come from all over the globe, but I am connected to the people I am not biologically related to because we all believe there can be a better place, a place worth fighting for, a place worth dying for.
Please remember the next time you see a service person, a veteran, a police officer, a firefighter, they have put their life on the line for you, for your rights, for your safety, and they deserve nothing less than your respect.
Please remember them.
Kneading, Reading, Streaming