The Fallen

When my brother and I were toddlers, my Dad would take us to cemeteries.

Siblings who shared a rambunctious streak, there were days when my Mom would run out of both patience and steam with her young brood. When those occasions arose, my father would fling us into the backseat of the family Oldsmobile and off we'd go to the local graveyard.

Granted, a strange choice at first blush. But my Dad was a WWII vet who had lost his right leg on the battlefields of France. Rendered an amputee while still a teenager himself, he couldn't scamper after us when we veered toward the street or headed in the direction of some other danger. But the town cemetery was free of such quagmires; no traffic, no whirling playground equipment, nothing but grass, and flowers, and room to run.

As the child of a career military man, Memorial Day holds a special place in my heart. I'm forever grateful that the sacrifices my father made for his country did not include his life, which allowed for mine. Others were not so fortunate.

On Memorial Day we honor the men and women who did pay the ultimate price. And we remain, forever, in their debt.

"Americans may not only pay tribute to our honored dead but also unite in prayer for success in our search for a just and lasting peace." - John F. Kennedy, "Prayer for Peace," Memorial Day 1962