The United States Marines.
It’s Memorial Day. We honor those men and women who died in our armed forces. And there’s no way to say that without sounding cliche.
Memorial Day never really meant much to me. Of course, I always appreciated it’s purpose, but growing up it was more of the day-the-swimming-pools-open-up. And maybe that’s a little bit harsh, but I was a pretty naive kid.
Disturbing as the fact may be, it has taken 17 years for Memorial Day to mean something to me. I stood in the cemetery this morning, along with the rest of the marching band, staring at the flag at half mast and holding back sobs.
I don’t know of anyone personally who has died in war.
And while both my grandfather’s are veterans, they are both still alive.
I clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut not for someone dead, but someone alive. This morning, I stood in the sunshine thinking about Lcpl. Chris. My friend Chris, two years older than me, originally a friend of my brother’s, is currently stationed in Japan with his unit. And today I missed him more than I ever had, so much it was physical pain.
I kept thinking about what he looked like in his uniform.
Japan is safe. It doesn’t look like he’ll be heading to Iraq but in his words “you never know”. I have tremendous respect for him for joining the Marines, more than I could possibly say. But I’m seventeen, I’m selfish. I won’t see Chris for another two years, assuming peace reigns supreme in Asia.
He flies helicopters.
At this point, I seem to have lost direction in this entry, and I’m really not sure what I’m trying to say anymore. Being an ardent pacifist, I suppose I could take this point to make an anti-war statement. But today is not the day for it. I could go more deeply into my feelings, but that isn’t what this blog is for. I could even make a stout demand that you all go out and support the nearest member of the armed forces that you can find, but I don’t think that’s right. Everyone supports eachother in their own way.
