Take a Moment to Remember What Memorial Day is About

When I was a kid, I remember being very excited that Memorial Day was coming up. For me, Memorial Day meant the school year was coming to an end, and summer was about to begin. A three-day weekend, then goodbye classroom, hello summer fun.

One day, as my enthusiasm was brimming over, my dad asked why I was in such a good mood. I told him I was ready for school to be over, and that Memorial Day was kind of the official start of summer. Who wouldn't be in a great mood?

Dad just kind of stared out into space for a moment, then quietly asked me if I knew what Memorial Day really was about. Confused, I went back to what I had just described to him.

"Unfortunately," he said, "It's become more about starting summer than what Memorial Day is really supposed to be. It's supposed to be the day we set aside to remember those who gave their lives serving their country, fighting for our freedom and the freedom of people all over the world. Lots of us have worn the uniform of an American soldier, not all of us came back. Memorial Day is the time to consider their sacrifice, and to appreciate those who gave everything to their country."

My dad was a World War II combat veteran. "One of the lucky ones who came back," as he liked to say. He lost many friends, or brothers, as he called them.

He told me the story of his best friend, a fellow soldier named Bob Miser, who had served as my dad's best man when he married my mom at Camp Shelby, Mississippi, in 1943. My dad, in turn, was Bob's best man when Bob and his wife married the very next day. Dad and Bob deployed overseas the day after that.

Nearly a year later, my dad recalled, as they had a bit of down time from intense fighting in France, Bob came running up to my dad happily waving a letter from home. "Jake (my dad's name)! I'm a daddy! I'm a daddy!" he shouted with joy, "It's a girl!" They took a few minutes and celebrated with a sip or two (or more) of some French brandy someone had obtained along the way, discussing children. In particular, Bob told my dad the baby business was just getting started for Bob and his wife. They planned to have at least 5 more ("maybe 9 so I can field my own baseball team!" he added).

That wasn't to be. On patrol, a day or so later, my dad, along with Bob and several other soldiers were ambushed by the enemy, taking heavy machine gun fire along with several grenades thrown into their midst. Bob was killed almost immediately, my dad, severely wounded, was one of three survivors.

For the remainder of his life (he lived to be 86), my dad couldn't discuss his best friend, Bob Miser, without tears, and, what later became known as "survivor's guilt."

Memorial Day for him was what Memorial Day is supposed to be. I've done my best to pass that along to my kids. I hope you have with yours.