Memorial Day

This is Memorial Day weekend. After World War I, it was known as Armistice Day and when I was growing up, it was called Veterans Day. It was just one day then, not a three-day weekend. When I was a kid the veterans of the two world wars would stand outside Kaye’s Red Owl store in Eagle River and sell poppies to put in your lapel or tuck behind your ear. Poppies, in commemoration of Flanders Field.  The “old soldiers” probably stood outside some of the other stores in town but the Red Owl is the one I remember and they looked old to me. In reality, even the ones from the First World War were probably only in their fifties at the time. My mother would let me put a donation in their collection can so I could have a poppy to wear. Today it felt like a time warp when I went to the grocery store. There they were, old guys selling paper poppies. (Side note: The old guys today were about my age and likely veterans of Viet Nam.) I bought a poppy and affixed it to my shirt. Then I stopped at another store and there were two more veterans. “Look,” I said, waving my paper flower, “I already have my poppy,” at which point one of the old dudes saluted me. I saluted back. Or rather, I guess I “saluted” because he told me I didn’t have the hang of it at all. He took my hand and straightened my fingers, trying to show me the proper way to salute but according to his standards, I still failed. “The Marines would be all over you for that,” he told me. “That might have been interesting!” I said and he appropriately burst into laughter.

Photo courtesy clarencealford at Pixabay.com