Mark Johnson posted: " When I was a youngster in the 1960s, as the end of spring approached my dad and his sisters spoke solemnly of an alliterative-sounding day we don't hear about anymore: Decoration Day. It was an apt description for an activity Americans performed every" Mark Johnson Stories
When I was a youngster in the 1960s, as the end of spring approached my dad and his sisters spoke solemnly of an alliterative-sounding day we don't hear about anymore: Decoration Day.
It was an apt description for an activity Americans performed every May 30, as the heat of summer rolled in. They decorated the graves of those who died in defense of their country.
According to history.com, the tradition began May 30, 1868. After General James Garfield made a speech at Arlington National Cemetery, 5,000 participants left flowers on the graves of 20,000 who died during the Civil War.
What we now know as Memorial Day has evolved into a hybrid holiday--the day we honor those who have served, pig out on barbecue, watch sports on TV, bicker about politics, guns, and vaccinations, pay an arm and leg to fill up our gas tanks, and race to the mall for a new mattress that's on sale.
On this especially somber weekend--just days after the latest school shooting and slaughter of innocent children in Uvalde, Texas--I prefer to pause and kneel (theoretically) before the grave of my father rather than salute our flag. Though I can't be in St. Louis right now to do that, I can write about it.
Walter Johnson served our country during World War II. He was an Army sergeant, who fought in Europe in the Battle of the Bulge in 1944.
Despite shell shock, personal trauma, and frequent nightmares, Dad lived nearly forty more years. He died in 1993. He and Helen Johnson, my mother, are buried at Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery south of St. Louis on the top of a hill under an oak tree.
This weekend, volunteers will be decorating all of the graves there--and in all national cemeteries--with miniature American flags.
On September 4, 2021--it would have been my parents' seventy-third wedding anniversary--Tom and I visited Dad's and Mom's graves.
We left a few acorns on top of their marble headstone. Though they are both long gone, the vivid memories--and the love--endures.
My hope is that one day soon--for the sake of American children and future generations--we can find our way to put down our guns, regain our senses, and decorate our lives with more than flowers and regrets.
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