I can’t remember how old I was (younger than 10) when my mother corrected my perception of Memorial Day. To my child’s mind, it was like the 4th of July, with picnics, a parade and the tiny red, white and blue flags my sister Jan and I planted in the garden. Those were the only two holidays when the flags were displayed in front of our home as a symbol of our pride in this country. I thought of it as a happy holiday and even made up my own little song about it. She told me that it wasn’t a happy day, instead, it was a day to honor those who died in wars. Not sure why, to this day, people wish each other Happy Memorial Day.
I knew my father had served in WW ll. He had his Navy uniform in his closet and I would often peruse his photo album that was filled with images of the young man who would more than a decade later become a husband and father. These were guys who had enlisted to fight the Nazis. This first generation American born of Russian Jewish immigrant parents felt justified in battling the bad guys who were destroying his ‘landsmen,’ and had designs on world domination. He served aboard a ship but fortunately, never saw combat. I wonder how he would have turned out if he had. Would he have come home, like many, with PTSD? He didn’t talk much about his time in the ‘service,’ as he referred to it.
Today, I was at the Memorial Parade in Doylestown, PA, the oldest in the country, which was launched 151 years ago. I go there to see friends, to marvel at the multi-cultural spectators who line a few miles of sidewalk, and to do my FREE HUGS activity. Instead of being armed with weapons, I am armed with love (so says my sign-Hugmobsters Armed With Love). I arrived early to walk the parade route and offered hugs to willing participants. Most say yes and open their arms. A few decline embracing, and I respect their wishes. Two memorable images stay with me from my morning. One was an elderly gentleman who asked how anyone could turn down a hug and told me that he misses hugs and doesn’t get enough, so I gave him a few extra before I went on my way. Someone else told me I smelled good, and my laughing response was that it was intentional since I would be in close proximity with lots of people. Peppermint essential oil did the trick since the temps were in the 80s by that point.
Some who paraded were in local marching bands, dance troops, politically oriented groups, environmental groups, theater groups, and representing the various branches of the military. I was relieved that there was no repeat of two things that occurred a few years ago. Gunshot was fired as part of one the brigades and it scared the crap (not literally, gladly) out of me. The other was that a Confederate group marched with their flag waving. Both were controversial and elicited much public conversation aftward.
A few thoughts ran through my mind as I watched the vets and the young people who were in training. When someone enlists, do they consider that they may not survive their time in the service? When parents send their sons and daughters off to war, do they practice cognitive dissonance, or do they too contemplate their child coming home in a casket or in some way (emotionally or physically maimed)? I don’t like the idea of people being recruited to be cannon fodder. I think about the last scene and cry every time, when I watch the 60s film Hair as the young men were transported to Vietnam only to die there. I think about those who came home from war wounded emotionally. As a therapist, I have treated vets with PTSD and wonder if they would still have signed up if they knew this would be the outcome. One told me about his work as a medic and said, “I came to Vietnam as a healer and the Army turned me into a killer.” He was drafted. I consider an episode of my favorite show, This Is Us as the mystery unfolds about the time spent ‘in country,’ by Jack Pearson and his brother Nicky.
I consider myself a peaceful warrior, with the heart of a hippie. I am not just anti-war, but instead pro-peace.
In no way is this meant to disrespect those who believe this to be their calling. I know a young man who chose to enlist and blessedly, he has not been deployed. His service is local and he has used his training to help people stateside. He has a good heart and conscience. My prayer for him and his family (I am friends with his parents) is that he never sees the horrors that war entails.
May all who lost their lives rest in peace and power.
Photo: courtesy of my parents’ photo album (my dad Morris (Moish) Weinstein at age 18 or so)