Memorial Day

I didn’t do anything special to celebrate today. I didn’t even put the flag out – of course, it was raining cats, dogs and puddles. I just didn’t want to stand out there in the wet and I didn’t want to have to hang the flag to dry afterward. Lazy, just pure lazy. I did listen to some F-14s do a fly-over around noon today.

I don’t live near the graves of any family soldiers killed during WWI or WWII. I suppose, if I was serious about honoring the fallen, I could have driven to Eugene and looked for the WWI memorial on the campus of the University of Oregon. Inscribed on that memorial is the name of my grandfather’s only brother, the favorite son of my maternal great grandparents. His name was Phillip Melrose and he died of “complications” due to scarlet fever in 1917. He was stationed at Fort Lewis and was a promising writer who was attending U of O when he was drafted. He had a girlfriend who lived in McMinnville.

I am not certain how my great uncle came to be out west, attending the University of Oregon when his people lived in Wisconsin. I do know my grandfather’s mother kept a scrapbook devoted almost solely to her oldest son, and she mourned him greatly. I know the woman who lived in McMinnville and loved him chose to never get married. And I know that my grandfather loved his brother.

My grandfather did not serve. Neither did my father’s father. My father’s mother’s brothers all served in WWII, but my Gramps did not serve. I believe Gramps was too young for WWII and too old for Korea, pretty much like my husband missed having to serve: he was too young for Viet Nam and too old for Desert Storm.

On my mother’s side of the family, we trace back to the American Revolution. What happened during subsequent wars is a bit of a mystery, although I know that a shirttail relative of ours was a terrorist who was hanged for his deeds at Harper’s Ferry. They even wrote a song about him: John Brown. There are letters that allude to family participation in the Underground Railroad, but no record of service during that terrible conflict that tore our nation in half. My father’s side of the family traces back to the American Revolution also. And what their role was during the Civil War is a mystery, too. They were settling the western territories, specifically the Idaho Territory.

The Great Wars claimed family members. My dad served in the Korean Conflict, on Korean soil. My father-in-law also served during the conflict, but was based in Okinawa. All of my dad’s brothers: his step brothers and his half-brother, served in the US Navy during Korea; my dad chose the US Army. According to my uncle (dad’s half-brother), my dad got out of doing two tours in Korea because he had “been there, done that” and was enrolled in college. Some sergeant in charge on the day my dad was called back to active duty heard that Dad had already served in Korea, so he arranged for my dad to finsih out his tour of duty stateside. Because of that action, my dad was based out of Fort Hanford where he met my mother, a civilian working on base. My uncle made the story sound quite romantic, but my uncle is a romantic. He was also a career Navy man.

My generation missed serving narrowly. My brother’s draft number was low and he was getting ready mentally and emotionally for the day his number was selected. Meanwhile, he was attending college. And just before they pulled his number, the draft was called off. Not only was it called off, but the requirement for young men to register with the Selective Service was temporarily canceled. My husband never registered. Desert Storm came along after Don was too old to register.

Now my son is in the US Army, stationed stateside. He has served in Korea and I understand from a Veteran of Foreign Wars that he is eligible for membership in that organization because we are, technically, still in a conflict with North Korea. Levi told me how strange it is to be on the DMZ. It is as close to real war as I hope (and pray) he will ever get.

My brother’s son has served three tours in Iraq with the US Marine Corps. My husband’s cousin has a son in Iraq (or perhaps he is now stateside). I believe he is in the Army.

We’re very proud of my nephew. My brother tells me that he suspects his son suffers PTSD. He works as a recruiter in California. Californians hate recruiters. I think most folks do not know that recruiters are often men who have served their nation on the front lines and are now just finishing up their time with the military, looking forward to their days as civilians. Maybe if we understood that, we’d be kinder to recruiters. Not that I like recruiters. I wasn’t kind to the man who recruited my son.

But I also recognized that my son was making a choice he believed in and that I had to let him go to be the man he was called to be. It didn’t matter what I thought about the war in Iraq, or any war. What mattered was that he was deciding his own path. I knew the recruiter was only doing his job, and it wasn’t a very hard job for him to convince Levi to choose military. What he had to do was to help Levi decide which branch of the military he would choose to serve in. The decision to serve was made long before Levi was old enough to enlist and long before I gave him my permission to enlist.

So while I did not fly the flag today and I did not place flowers on someone’s grave nor even visit a memorial, I still took a moment to honor the men and women who have chosen to serve. Past, present, and future. I am incredibly proud of these young people, of these old people, of these soldiers and sailors, and I have been touched by their sacrifice even if I never knew them outright. The death of Phillip Melrose colored my family for a very very long time.

Levi: I am proud of you. Always and forever. Love, Mom.