Memorial Day

If you ask the Son of Never Stops Eating what Memorial Day is, he'd probably tell you something like "It's the day of no more school!".  He's so excited about no more school for the summer, he can barely stand still. We have conversations that go like this:

Son:  Mom, aren't you excited about summer?
Me:   Not as much as you are.
Son:  Why?
Me:   I still have to go to work.
Son:  That's a sad story, Mom.

If you asked the teenager, she might say "That's our band trip weekend!" Yes, my teenager is also so excited she can barely stand still; four days of fun and excitement with her high school band friends. Actually, my son is excited about this, too- four entire days with no sister.

When I was a park ranger, Memorial Day meant the start of recreation season.  The entire weekend was one big campout at the lake, with people boating and picnicking and hanging out with their families. I spent a lot of time enforcing park rules and asking people to please wear their lifejackets while on the lake.  (Side note: if you are going to the lake, make a park ranger happy; wear your lifejacket.)

Memorial Day also brings back two memories from my own childhood.  For awhile, my family lived in the Philippines.  The Grandpa of No likes to go see and do things,  and one of his field trips was a place called Corregidor Island. If you are not up on your World War II Pacific Theater history, Corregidor Island was the last stand of the American and Philippine armed forces, and when it was surrendered in 1942 the Philippines fell to the Japanese.  I was in elementary school at the time of our visit, so I don't have crystal clear memories, but I do remember seeing the dark tunnels of the fortress. Seeing it many years after the end of WWII as a quiet memorial park was eerie and jarring at the same time.

I was a Girl Scout at the same time, and one of our troop's annual activities was to participate in a reenactment of the Bataan Death March (Google it).  As I remember, we were only walking 5K and at the end of it there was probably a pavilion with drinks and cookies, but I couldn't even make it 5K without dissolving into a 8 year old wreck.  Somewhere in my parents' photo albums there is a picture of me having a meltdown. Not my finest moment.

I don't remember what was going through my head at the time, but I remember the walking and the heat. I vaguely recall redeeming myself the following year by completing the entire reenactment.   I don't know if it ever occurred to me to  think about the hundreds of American and Philippine soldiers who had been forced to march that same path, so many years before.  It probably did not;  I was a lot more into my seashell collection than I was military history. My father may have said something; I couldn't tell you. If he did, I probably rolled my eyes and ignored most of it.

I think about it now, however.  I wish I could take my own offspring there and show them, have them stand on that ground where people died, far from home, for a country they loved. I can't imagine what it was truly like, but I know that the sacrifices made by those warriors, and those made by every man and woman who died in service before and after are worthy of deep respect.

So on this holiday, be safe.  Have fun.  Enjoy your family and your friends. But also take some time to respect the holiday by recognizing, in some way that is meaningful to you, the purpose and  meaning of this long weekend.