Memorial Day, like Labor Day, has never resonated with me.  Like many Americans, the two days signal the traditional beginning and end of the summer season, but little else.

Regarding Labor Day, I’ve experienced nothing in my 60+ years to even remotely connect me with the labor movement.

Memorial Day is more problematic.  I know I should feel grateful than I do to the men and women who have given their lives to defend our nation.  Yet, with some rare exceptions, I take this day and their sacrifice for granted.  

My Dad fought in the infantry in Europe in WWII and even earned a Bronze Star.  My Mom was an Army nurse across battlefields in Europe, even caring for men wounded in the Battle of the Bulge.  My Dad wouldn’t talk about his experience, but I enjoyed hearing my Mom’s stories and seeing her aging photos of tent hospitals and Paris. But WWII was already a fading memory, even as I grew up in the 1950’s.

Similarly,  Vietnam, my generation’s war, was for me relegated to TV reports.  Like me, all my friends had college deferments. I cannot remember actually knowing a single person who fought in  Vietnam.

I’ve reflected on my lack of such personal experience with the military because something recently changed in my life that, like a set of falling dominoes, has also changed my view of Memorial Day. 

Last week Marilyn and I attended a classic graduation week tradition at the US Naval Academy in Annapolis, where we now live.  The plebes (freshman) celebrate the end of their grueling first year at the Academy in a riotous climb of the Herndon Monument. 

The Herndon Monument  is a 21-foot-tall grey granite obelisk that for this occasion is smeared with 200 pounds of grease and lard.  The plebe class must work together, standing on one another’s shoulders, to climb high enough to throw a midshipman’s cover (hat) onto the pinnacle.  This project has taken anywhere from 20-30 minutes to over 4 hours for every class since 1962.

As Marilyn and I watched the fun, we chatted with three 3rd class (sophomore) midshipmen in their dress whites who reminisced about their Herndon climb the year before.  As in all my interactions with mid’s, they were open, polite and friendly.  Yes, it was only a brief encounter, but in a world where values are receding, it is easy to imagine that the Academy’s core values of honor, courage and commitment are more than mere words to these three 19-year-olds, and–by extension–to their many greasy, joyful friends I was watching.

This is what changed this past year: I am now in closer proximity to military people and military traditions than ever before in my life.  We have attended sports and musical events at the Academy.  We drive past a military cemetery with hundreds of white crosses every week on our way to church.  I’ve also had glimpses into military culture through active and retired officers I’ve met at church.

Our worldviews are shaped by such personal experience. 

The three young men we chatted with are getting a great education at a premier institution, but when they graduate will be putting themselves in harm’s way for me and my family.  A future Memorial Day might include one of them or one of their friends I smile at as I lead my tour groups.

For someone like me far removed from military life, it is a sobering thought. 

This is how change happens.  It is no longer “those Muslims,” but Mohammed who coaches my kid’s soccer team and his family who live around the corner.  It is no longer “those immigrants,” but Maria who cares for my children.

We all live attenuated lives, invisibly boxed in by who we know, where we have lived, who we associate with or listen to, how we spend our time. 

This week I took one small step toward better honoring all those fallen veterans I don’t know, because last week I chatted with three midshipmen watching their friends climb a greasy granite obelisk. 

Such is how we all grow.

 

 

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