Sunday, May 25, 2008

Memorial Day




Ever since I was a child I wondered why we "celebrate" Memorial Day. There are picnics, parties and fun events for all. It always seemed that Memorial Day was the commemoration of the first unofficial day of summer. Memorial Day is the day when we commemorate those who died in service for the United States. I like that the news programs talk about the service people who have given their lives that we may be free. I like that the movie channels play war movies to keep the aura of the day in the even of rain or no plans.

Memorial Day memories of my family are as rich as Christmas memories. Every Memorial Day we would awaken around 7:30 to watch my father don his army apparel - his khaki shirt and pants, his many ribbons and patches; the patch of the 705th Tank Destroyer Battalion that he served with in the Battle of the Bulge; his white gun belt and spats. How handsome he was in his uniform. He would let each of us wear his VFW helmet. It wiggled so on our heads, but we loved that feeling because it reminded us of his days in World War II. We were so proud of him. After Dad got dressed, Mom would drive him to Skokie School in Winnetka where everyone convened for the biggest yearly event in this small lakefront suburb of Chicago. Sometimes, if I was dressed, I'd go with to drop him off. My stomach would be filled with butterflies of excitement as I heard the Armand F. Hammer band rehearsing, the Winnetka Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts and Indian Scouts were convening as proud children readying to march in front of their friends and families. The Winnetka VFW Post members and Ladies Auxiliary dressed in light blue regrouped for the year and talked about how the parade would be staged this year - though it never changed. The men would talk and smoke cigarettes and then practice shooting their rifles to ensure they didn't lock up after being tucked back in storage since last year's parade. Dad would get out of the car and join his comrades like a young boy meets up with his friends on the first day of school.

When Mom came back home we would all get ready - in red, white & blue attire - and drive back to Winnetka to stand in front of Connie's Pharmacy by 9:30. We would meet Aunt Joanne & Uncle Hank (before they moved to Florida)Uncle Wayne & Aunt Linn - and as they we born and grew, Tracie, Torrie & Tim. After Uncle Wayne died suddenly at the age of 41, Aunt Linn and the kids still came to the parade until they moved to Georgia.

Once we got to Connie's Pharmacy and found our sidewalk spot, Mom gave us some change to go into the drug store and buy some candy. The wait until 10:00 when the parade started seemed endless. I would go back to the side of the road many times and stand on my tip-toes to try and see if I could see anything coming over the Elm Street bridge. Then, all of a sudden I could feel a "bang, bang, bang" in my stomach. It was almost as if the sidewalk was reverberating. I would run to the side of the street again and look toward the bridge to see the golden tips moving up, down, up, down with each motion up, more would appear - blue, white, red, the banners became visible and I was so very excited to be a part of this country that my own father fought for. I would see the navy blue uniforms of the men holding the flags - their white gloves, white hats. They looked gigantic. Right behind them was my Uncle Tom leading the VFW firing squad and the Ladies Auxiliary. In later years, Uncle Tom's place would be taken by Jim McFadzean and then by my father. As the firing squad passed by I would watch for my dad and he would wave to me, my brothers Ralph and David, sister Dianne, and Mom. I felt so gifted that I even knew him, much less was his daughter. It was the one special time that I felt like I was at one with my family - we were all looking up to him alone and not comparing ourselves to each other.

After the parade passed by they would convene at the Village Green for convocation, speeches, and the reading of the name of every person from Winnetka who died in the honorable service of our country. This was always done with time so that the firing squad would honor the deceased at 11:00 a.m. Taps would play, the Girl Scouts would place a memorial wreath at the flag pole by the unknown soldier and the band would play while we all sang America the Beautiful as the flag at half mast was raised to full. The parade would then pass in review and we would all convene again in front of Connie's where Dad would give us spent rifle shells which we quickly used as whistles and somehow lost during the next year.

To many other people, this might only be a day like others - a July 4th race on the town commons, an evening band concert, a little league game on a humid summer evening - but to me, this was my father, my family, my town and my country. I cherished attending the Winnetka Memorial Day parades each year into my adulthood - and even came back from Iowa with my husband Caleb in 1994, to surprise my parents. Mom was standing at Connie's, Dad waved to me as he passed by, this time with a surprised look of joy. I didn't know at the time it would be the last parade I would attend in Winnetka. The next year Mom and Dad moved to Florida to retire. Mom died in 1996 and Dad, in 2001.

Still, every Memorial Day they are as rich in my memory as the spring air is rich with the aroma of lilacs and jasmine. And I re-live those days in my mind each year.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I can't believe I just found this now. What an amazing recount of a memory we both share. You brought it all back to me. Thanks, Cuz.

Dianne Neiweem Fox said...

When are you going to post a new one!?