In my home town remembering started on Monday, May 23rd when a couple men went around and "renamed" the streets in the center of town.
We remember the men from town who died during WWII and Vietnam by renaming the street closest to their family's home or their home. George Synder's aunt and uncle lived at the end of Oak Street. It is such a special way to keep their sacrifice in the forefront of our minds as we drive down the street during Memorial Day week.
I have my Grandpop to thank for instilling in me the importance of remembering. These fellas were his childhood playmates. He remembers them well and has always taught -by his actions- the importance of remembering those lost. For as long as I can remember, at noon on Memorial Day I have gathered with my parents, neighbors and fellow townspeople at the war memorial outside of the police department and we remember specifically our 17 men who died in World War II and 1 in Vietnam.
I have watched in pride as my Grandpop, also a WWII vet, set up for this VFW Memorial service and made sure everything ran smoothly. I teared up when Taps was echoed by a distant trumpeter. I listen attentively as names are read off of the veterans who have passed during the year and as a bell is rung for each one. Often I knew them. At the end, my aunts and whatever cousins are around get their picture taken with Grandpop and his sisters in front of the memorial. To me this is what Memorial Day is.
This Monday my baby boy will get to attend for the first time. He will probably cry during the "21 gun salute" but I hope over time to instill in him the importance of remembering those who gave their all and also those veterans who have diligently kept memories alive by honoring their fallen comrades.
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