Flags

Every Memorial Day in the past many years, our family has awoken early to hang the flags for the Avenue of Flags in Santa Rosa. Everywhere you look in the Santa Rosa Memorial Park are flags of every size. The usually green cemetery is a visual wonderland of waving red, white and blue. Each flag had a name written very small on the seam...the name of a person whose coffin had borne the flag. Each flag carried a story and beckoned us to remember.

Along with our family, we were joined by Boy Scouts and veterans and military families. Before the sun was high, the flags were flying proudly as veterans told us short stories of their times in service or scolding a young boy for not knowing how to respect the flag. It was always a time to remember the fallen and celebrate those who placed our freedom above their comforts. Later, we would return for the actual celebration and Memorial Day service. Veterans now appeared in their uniforms or wore their service ribbons on hats. From the national anthem to Taps, this was a sacred and important time. Every person present knew that they were in the midst of heroes, though the heroes would never ever accept that title.

Thanks to marriage and a home address in Southern California, I couldn't go hang flags this year. Yet, I was not raised to see Memorial Day as a day for BBQs and good sales. So, at the encouragement of an older friend and veteran of the Korean War, Dan and I went to the local cemetery for their annual service. The flags were not as prolific here, but the veterans were. The color guard was full of WWII veterans, one of which accidentally forgot what "about-face" meant. The service truly honored those who have fallen and offered prayers for the Blue Star families in La Mirada. In a moment of near silence, 3 Gold Star mothers stood. I didn't know them, and I never knew their sons, but I know that they died for my freedom. A Colonel spoke on the hope of today's generation. Amazingly, he sees much hope for the health of our country in the hands of today's youth. Whereas many see America as a land full of malcontented politicians and liberal anti-war protesters and children who do not know the meaning of the flag being at half-mast, I saw a different America today.

America still has its patriots and heroes. If soldiers did not die on the shores of Normandy or the deserts of Kuwait, it is quite plausible that anti-war protesters would not have the ability to protest peacefully. Everyday, a family is burdened with opening the door to two servicemen reporting their regrets. I have faith that the America I live in will not forget those families.

As Dan and I drove home, the notes of Taps still ringing in my mind, I counted the flags hanging outside of homes. In two miles, I counted 3--on Memorial Day. Though saddened, I know this can change. Veterans have the responsibility to pass down their memories and their traditions. We have a responsibility to carry on their memories and traditions. God-willing, Dan and I will raise our children to know about the wars and the flag and how their freedom came to be. They will honor their grandfather for his Air Force service and their great-grandfather for his Army service. As terrified as I might be, I might see one of my children serve his country with pride.

Until then, I can only remember the flags and the veterans and the tears that prove this country still has hope.