Personal Patriotism

I attended a Veterans Day program at the local high school. My daughter, resplendent and beaming with young adulthood, addressed the assembly to introduce a choir and read "In Flanders Field." More so than previous Veterans Day events at the high school, this year's ceremony seemed to elevate itself with a palpable patriotism that was decidedly uplifting. Student from many grades participates in choirs, in speaking roles, in behind-the-scenes preparations, in the band (performing service songs or playing "Taps"), or otherwise ardently waving flags and cheering the sacrifice and dutiful commitments of our veterans.

Then, Saturday morning, I slipped downtown when I realized the local Veterans Day Parade was about to begin.

I learned these small town parades tend to fall into extremes: very lame or very enjoyable. Fortunately, this weekend's parade was the latter. Several area high school bands marched and a number of local organizations were represented. A bus-van from a local nursing home drove the parade route with veterans from the home. Though the windows were so darkly tinted as to make it difficult to discern any figures inside, I could make out the motions of a waving hand, so I waved back enthusiastically.

I had an unexpected emotional blow when a vehicle came by with Gold Star Mothers. I figure there were at least some attendees lining the street that didn't not know the significance of that designation -- that these were mothers who'd lost a son or daughter in service of the country.

I saw my elementary school physical education coach (retired), my high school band director (retired), and many other familiar faces waving flags exuberantly.

There were overweight, fez-topped Shriners balanced precariously on tiny cars -- speeding along in figure-eight formations. And, as is inevitable in these parades, the caravan of old farmers riding their aged tractors.