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I remember when I was a kid less than twelve years old, my mother would take my siblings and me to visit my dad’s grave. He served in the army during the Korean conflict. And, although the U.S. military led the United Nations’ expeditionary force, its involvement was tied only to a UN Security Council resolution, because the UN itself cannot declare war. Consequently, the conflict in Korea did not technically constitute a war. (The preceding was a Googled answer to the question of whether the U.S was at war with North Korea.) I didn’t fully understand the importance of these visits through brushes to visit my dad’s grave until much later. I now recall us placing artificial flowers there, after cleaning overgrowth that had taken over during the previous year. The graveyard was somewhere down a gravel road, not resembling a graveyard at all. Those annual visits always resulted in chigger bites, itching, and scratching for days afterwards. And so was the experience in an old Black cemetery that had no regular maintenance.

Understanding the importance of Memorial Day until I was about seventeen years old was impersonal. I had gained knowledge of that day through reading history and making visits to my dad’s grave. Thousands of young people had died in the name of supporting freedom for Americans. Because of these sacrifices, we Americans had set aside the last Monday in May to pay homage. When I was in college, I became more conscious of the mistreatment Black soldiers, who had served abroad, received upon returning home. This generated a conflict in me that questioned whether I should celebrate Memorial Day. Fortunately, that dissonance was short-lived when it became obvious to me that the sacrifices Black soldiers made going to war for America was no less valuable than anyone else’s.

The Vietnam war was the first military conflict that became personally disturbing to me. Living in the backwoods of America, I was beginning to see how the tentacles of the United State’s Military complex can reach out, draft, and train common Joe Americans to be warriors for any cause our leaders see fit. I clearly recall when a young man from my neck of the woods returned home in what was pieces. I say that because his casket was sealed at the funeral. His extended hometown family couldn’t experience viewing of his remains. This experience began a different understanding of what Memorial Day means. From that point, moving forward, I would recognize Memorial Day as a time to give tribute to people who had died during my time here on earth. I would see young men with babyfaces, drape in military garb, making their way through airports, on there way to God knows where. The years have taught me that paying honor to the warrior is an honorable thing to do. Our warriors don’t start the wars, and in many cases aren’t even aware of the reason for destructive conflict, but they do pay the heaviest of prices.

I now have a grandson who serves in the Marines. He’s not yet thirty years old; however, he’s done well. He’s achieved a respectable amount of rank, and he’s proud to serve his country. I’m supportive of his decision to serve in the manner he’s chosen. There have been young people in my church and the broader community in which I live who also have served in the military, again making it important that I recognize the personal sacrifices they’ve chosen to make.

I’m old and blessed…hope you will be too.