A Parade to Honor and to Remember

When I was a kid, my hometown held a parade every year on Memorial Day weekend. Like most families, my parents and siblings would watch the parade in the morning and then plant flowers in family plots at the cemetery in the afternoon. A cookout with hot dogs and hamburgers would follow.

The parade was part celebration and part remembrance – in celebration of those who made it home and in solemn remembrance for those who didn’t. We always got there early with our lawn chairs to make sure we had the best spot. I was usually fidgeting. I couldn’t wait to see the soldiers. These veterans were so impressive, stern and tight lipped, arms swinging, never faltering – despite those with gray hair or maybe a limp or empty sleeve. In measured columns and rows they passed by, their rhythm perfect, in cadence and in step with their personal memories of events long past. They followed the flag.

But first, we heard the high school band. Those far away trumpets, heralded the approaching parade. As the American flag proudly waved into view, our older neighbors struggled to their feet, hands on hearts. I can remember hopping up and down beside my Mom, watching my brother in his Army greens march by – ramrod straight, a proud Vietnam Veteran. There were numbers of World War II and Korean War veterans too, all men, still fitting into their uniforms, medals swaying in time to the drumbeat.