More than just parades and cook outs...

Quinn ventured out to attend his very first parade, the Appleton Memorial Day Parade. I must say that I was probably a bit more excited that he was. Reliving memories of marching in many parades in my girl scout uniform, I was excited for Quinn to at least watch one. We stood near the end of the route and watched the color guards from every military branch walk past, fire engines and marching bands from every local high school. Quinn seemed to be interested in it all. He didn't even flinch at the sirens of rescue vehicles.

At the end of the parade, we could either go home or follow the parade route to local cemetery and attend a Memorial Day Ceremony. It was getting close to lunch time and of course nap time, but we took the risk.

We gathered with many others to view the ceremony. I scanned the crowd and saw almost no one my own age. Lots of elderly, some who looked to be of the Viet Nam generation, but hardly any young families.

I admired the color guards who stood like statues, holding their flags with pride and honor. They didn't move a muscle or blink an eye. Their stern countenance falling in line with the solemness of the day.

Being the softy that I am, I spent a lot of the ceremony trying not to cry as people shared their speeches. The audience was in a horse shoe shape around many white gravestone, some freshly white and other gray with age. This particular park is where Appleton has designated to bury fallen soldiers. We stood closely behind a family who, this year, lost a son, a husband, and a father. At one point we all stood silently to honor this man. His mother was there. His wife, who looked about my age, was there, and his little girl, with a ruffly dress and curly pigtails, was there.

At the end of the ceremony, I had the desire but failed to have the courage to approach his wife, to say thank you, or to shake her hand. As I stood there watching, hoping for the bravery to speak up, imagining myself in her shoes, the Marine Corps color guard walked up to this family. These men who, for over an hour, stood like statues assumed a gentle form. They embraced this family. The mother seemed to almost melt into the strong arms of one Marine and the wife shook the crisply white, gloved hand of another. One crouched down to smile at the little girl and place a soft hand on her head.

I walked away from the scene wiping many tears away, wondering where is my generation in all of this. How come Brian, Quinn and I were among so few other young families? Is this just a day off of work and an excuse to grill out in the back yard? We discussed Viet Nam stories with my mom on the walk home and tried to figure out where the disconnect is. I told Brian that I want to have a patriotic family. And he responded in his usual wise and succinct way, "then we have to teach them."