Memorial Day, for a Father Whose Son was Killed in Iraq - Andrew J. Bacevich, Los Angeles Times.
Where I grew up in the Midwest during the 1950s and early '60s, Memorial Day was no more about remembering the nation's war dead than Labor Day was about honoring working stiffs. It was a "free day." Falling on a Monday, Memorial Day made possible that great innovation, "the long weekend." As a family, we gathered in backyards for barbecues and to celebrate the informal beginning of summer. We did not gather in cemeteries to pay homage.
During my years as a serving soldier, Memorial Day connoted something quite different: It meant no scheduled training. It no longer implied a "free day," however. In the outfits where I served, holidays were the days we officers wore civvies to work, trying to catch up on everything left undone (usually paperwork) during the duty week. In retrospect it seems odd and more than a little embarrassing: Girding ourselves to fight the Red hordes, we Cold Warriors could spare no time to contemplate the sacrifices made by the real warriors who had preceded us.
Three years ago this month, my son was killed while serving in Iraq. His death changed many things, among them my own hitherto casual attitude toward Memorial Day.
Here in New England, where we now make our home, deejays and local news anchors still proclaim Memorial Day weekend the unofficial start of summer, as if unearthing some fresh discovery. Folks with cottages to open up take to the highways, pushing through traffic toward seashore or mountains. Our trek will be considerably shorter and simpler: We will make the five-minute drive to our son's gravesite...
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