The Worth of Remembrance

Here is an interesting item from sportswriter Peter King:

A bit of history: Memorial Day began as "Decoration Day'' in the 1860s, to honor the 625,000 soldiers who died in the Civil War. Think of that amazing number: The number of Civil War dead is more than the population of Wyoming today. The number of Civil War dead is 11 times the number of American troops who died in Vietnam. According to Yale historian David Blight, the first Decoration Day event was organized by freed African-American slaves in 1865 in Charleston, S.C., where a parade of 10,000, led by 3,000 black schoolchildren, took place to honor the dead around a racetrack that had been used as a burial ground. In 2010, some leading Charleston residents dedicated a memorial for the first Memorial Day -- so re-named in 1882 -- at a reflecting pool in the city.

It is hard to reflect on the purpose of Memorial Day without feeling more than a little inadequate. It is one day of the year that is set aside to honor those who have died in the service of our country. How can any of us, enjoying our grills, pools (though not today), and many creature comforts, hope to express our thanks to those who have given everything? How can we express it to those left behind?

I was moved by this article by Tom Manion, the father of a fallen Marine named First Lieutenant Travis Manion.

Travis was just 26 years old when an enemy sniper's bullet pierced his heart after he had just helped save two wounded comrades. Even though our family knew the risks of Travis fighting on the violent streets of Fallujah, being notified of his death on a warm Sunday afternoon in Doylestown, Pa., was the worst moment of our lives.
While my son's life was relatively short, I spend every day marveling at his courage and wisdom. Before his second and final combat deployment, Travis said he wanted to go back to Iraq in order to spare a less-experienced Marine from going in his place. His words—"If not me, then who . . . "—continue to inspire me.

Mr. Manion reminds us that sacrifices continue to be made, and men like Travis continue to give their lives, after more than ten years of war.

Author, and soldier's wife, Lily Burana, comments on a photo that she finds haunting. I agree, and hope you will read about it. I remember seeing the photo when it accompanied a story about the Marines whose job it is to notify families of the death of a loved one and who accompany their remains to their place of burial.

Her closing words are worth copying here:

I believe that the civilian-military gap isn’t always born of indifference, but rather, at times, a sense of helplessness on the civilian side. What can I do? If you do nothing else, you can remember those who have given their lives for their country. Our country. Remembrance, which may seem a modest contribution in the moment, is a sacred act with long-term payoff — a singularly human gift that keeps on giving, year after war-fatigued year. I don’t need to remind you that America’s sons and daughters are still dying in combat. I don’t want to browbeat you into feeling guilty for not doing more. Instead, I want to tell you that as the wife of a veteran, it is tremendously meaningful to know that on this Memorial Day, civilians will be bearing witness and remembering in their own way — that those who are gone are not forgotten. I also want to say that as you remember them, we remember you.
Thank you.

Thank you, to those who have fought and died. Thank you to their families. Thank you to those who have lost in other ways, and thank you to those who love them. My words cannot hope to relay the feeling of gratitude that I feel.

What I've Learned

I've had some time on my hands, so I thought I would share some of what I've been thinking about.

I've learned that three hour naps in the middle of the afternoon are amazing! I used to know that, so I guess I relearned it. I'm sure I will soon learn that I should not expect that to happen again until my children are much, much older.

I've learned that I need a much better story to explain how I got this sweet cut in between my eyes. Not for people that I actually care about, but for the randomly curious person to whom I do not want to give the whole flu/dehydration spiel. Any ideas? Referee at a cockfight? Unicycle accident?

I've learned that old age must be very frustrating, especially if there is much of this falling involved. At least I was asleep during my fall. I only had to experience the blood pouring from my face after the incident occurred, which I think would be preferable to experiencing my face hit the bathtub LIVE!

I've learned that there is so little good programming on TV. Most of ESPN's hosts are insufferable, with silly affected voices and the inability to ask non-leading questions. All of these old dramas all seem the same. At least rereading old novels is more satisfying than watching old tv shows (Thank you Orson Scott Card).

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I Got Whacked

Saturday night I started to feel a little sick. Mild sore throat and aches mostly, which I attributed to my Friday INTENSE weight lifting and playing in our flag football league game earlier that day. I woke up the next morning feeling pretty lousy, which I now know is the Flu. I stayed home from Church, slept a lot, hoping to feel better in time for a 9 AM appointment in the office.

I woke up at midnight to use the bathroom. On my way from toilet to sink I blacked out, hitting my face on something (bathtub or floor?). I woke up to see blood pouring from my nose and this nice gash on my nose between my eyes.

That is a picture that I snapped in the hospital. Apparently I had a subconscious desire to emulate Harry Potter, but aimed a little low.

Lacy heard me fall and came into the bathroom as I was trying to stand up. I was unresponsive to her questions, but remember thinking that I needed to get cleaned up and go back to sleep. She helped me slump back against the wall, and I sipped some Gatorade while she called my dad. He arrived, took me to the hospital where I had an EKG, CT scan, chest x-ray, blood work and flu swab. The diagnosis? Dehydration due to influenza type A. I thought I was drinking enough fluids, but apparently not. In addition to the face gash I have a small fracture in my nose and nasty neck pain.

17 stitches later (3 internal, 14 external) here is my beautiful face.


I am taking it easy at home, trying to stay away from my wonderful, curious kids and beautiful wife so that they don't get sick. I'm grateful for Lacy and her quick thinking after the initial shock of seeing my blood pooling on the bath rug. I'm grateful for my parents, especially my dad who sat with me in the hospital for four hours and is covering my appointments. I'm thankful to God that nothing more serious occurred.

I learned that you can be dehydrated and still have to pee. I am taking Tamiflu and enjoying the Lortab. Hopefully I will rejoin society later this week.

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Location:Home, then North Florida Regional Medical Center, now Home

Keep it Clean

This article is a nice companion to yesterday's post. David Brooks looks at the roots of our societal incivility and makes some good points:

The problem is that over the past 40 years or so we have gone from a culture that reminds people of their own limitations to a culture that encourages people to think highly of themselves. The nation’s founders had a modest but realistic opinion of themselves and of the voters. They erected all sorts of institutional and social restraints to protect Americans from themselves. They admired George Washington because of the way he kept himself in check.
But over the past few decades, people have lost a sense of their own sinfulness. Children are raised amid a chorus of applause. Politics has become less about institutional restraint and more about giving voters whatever they want at that second. Joe DiMaggio didn’t ostentatiously admire his own home runs, but now athletes routinely celebrate themselves as part of the self-branding process.
So, of course, you get narcissists who believe they or members of their party possess direct access to the truth. Of course you get people who prefer monologue to dialogue. Of course you get people who detest politics because it frustrates their ability to get 100 percent of what they want. Of course you get people who gravitate toward the like-minded and loathe their political opponents. They feel no need for balance and correction.

So while I agree that politics was just as ugly and rancorous 100, 500, or 1000 years ago, there WAS a decorum, born of modesty, that is missing in much of what we do today. It would be nice to have some of that back. In the meantime, we have to take it easy.

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