Memorial Day

This was how the conversation started: "You're a veteran!" One of my friends told me. "You can join the VFW!" I'm a what? Having been in Iraq for 4 months now and having yet to even fire my weapon…having yet to even leave the FOB…I'm allowed to call myself a veteran? What kind of sick joke is that? I'm supposed to be able to hold my head up with survivors of WWII, Korea, Vietnam…? Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not a fan of taking accolades that I haven't earned. "Chill, Xena. It's Memorial Day." He said, "I was thinking of you."

I completely forgot that today was Memorial Day. I had been looking at my friends' away messages, wondering why they weren't at work, when this innocuous little IM hit me between the eyes. It's Memorial Day weekend, all self-respecting 20-somethings are drinking themselves into oblivion by the side of a pool. Or buying cars or mattresses, both of which are presumably on sale back in the States, advertised in eye-catching Patriotic reds whites and blues; a clever trick designed to convince your Average Joe that the best way to show his love for his country is to spend money. Bow down before the Altar of Consumerism, America, for lo, it is your God.

So it's Memorial Day. This is supposed to be the day that we remember our war dead, those brave men and women who made the final sacrifice and laid their lives on the altar of freedom, wave the flag, wipe the tear and cue the uplifting music. This should be a day that is especially meaningful for me, being that I am a proud little Soldier Girl and in Iraq, to boot. I should be watching Saving Private Ryan and taking notes – Tom Hank's CPT Miller is the ideal Army commander, selfless and focused on the mission (to the exclusion of all else) – I should be prancing around my room listening to Souza marches, practicing my Patton speeches in the mirror, going to barbeques, and patting myself on the back for being brave/loyal/stupid/desperate enough to land myself over here, involved in a land war in Asia. I should be racking up stories to tell my grandkids. Should be. How could I have let it get here without me realizing?

Memorial Day is like an unexpected present from an Aunt who doesn't know you well – you didn't want it in the first place and now that it's here you don't really know what to do with it. It means well, but it falls flat. This is a day of MEMORY – a day for honoring those who died in service of their country (and let me tell you, ask any family…it's not so dulce, it's not so decorum…screw the medals, they want their kid back), a day for remembering WHY it was we asked them to pro patria mori in the first place. What do we have now that we wouldn't have had if those people hadn't been brave/loyal/stupid/desperate enough to join up, to do their part, and to die by bullet, gas or bayonet? We have a country, we have freedom, we have Texas, we have the United Nations, English as opposed to German, the Space Program, the right to vote when we're 18, and graveyards all over the world filled up with the bones and blood of Americans. I thank God for those people, and my parents thank God that I'm not one of them.

I've been trying all morning to remember what in the hell I did last Memorial Day. I was barely two weeks out of college, working for my Dad and killing time until Officer Basic Course. Did I go to the pool? Probably. Did I go to a barbeque? I might have. I can remember last Christmas easily – I got tickets to Wicked on Broadway…last New Years – got a kiss at midnight from a boy who tasted like margaritas and cheap champagne…last Thanksgiving – the parentals got into it over what kind of sweet potatoes to serve…last Fourth of July – kicked some lieutenant ass in Flip Cup before going to the Montgomery Gentry concert at Fort Leonard Wood. Why is it that the only thing I can remember from last Memorial Day is a vague distaste for car commercials and an impression of the pool? I've spent many a Memorial Day at the pool, in a bikini, going to barbeques and flirting with boys. I don't think I've ever stopped to think about what it actually meant.

Maybe the best way to celebrate this day of death is to celebrate life? Whee, we're not dead, but let's raise a glass to those that are, who made it possible for me to stand here, drinking cuerveza, in a bikini, roasting a hot dog and flirting with boys? My little sister went to a Biker Rally in DC – Rolling Thunder, made up of Vietnam Veterans and Harleys. This is probably the ultimate symbol of memorial day – a day of sound and fury, signifying something…I'll be damned if I know just what, though. There are mothers and fathers all over America mourning their lost sons and daughters today – mourning and praying and remembering. I thank God for those people, for those mothers and fathers, and I pray for them, those families for whom today has a horribly immediate meaning.

I swear to God, Mom and Dad…you will never be one of them.