It was a very moving experience. I've grown up respecting my grandfathers for their military service. My Dad's father (who died before Dad and Mom even met) was in the Army during World War II, before he met and married my grandmother, Dad's mom. Her first husband was killed in action. Mom's dad (The Grandfather) was in the Army, fought in three major battles in Europe, saw 98 straight days of combat without a break, and received a shrapnel wound that earned him a Purple Heart. He'll claim he doesn't deserve the Purple Heart, to which the rest of us respond that he absolutely does!
I've grown up hearing his stories - how his feet were frozen from wearing his wet boots in the trenches, how crawling down the French hedgerows in the heat of battle, leaves and sticks fell down his collar as bullets cut them from the bushes above his head. How, as company runner, he saw one of his superiors shot because a sniper across the field caught the glint from the man's binocular lenses. How a German man who fought on the German side, now lives here in America, and is one of The Grandfather's good friends.
And many other stories. I've grown up hearing them, so vividly told that, a few years ago when our family visited one of the U.S.'s largest WWII museums, I had the feeling almost like I'd seen the photographs before, but in color, seen the replica hedgerows with my own eyes, but in real life, crawled through the mud myself, heard the planes overhead and the whistle of the falling bombs.
The Grandfather doesn't talk much about those days any more. I don't think it's because he doesn't want to, just maybe that he doesn't remember so much now. I'm so thankful that he did tell us grandkids those stories when he could remember.
We've grown up respecting that. But it means so much when others, complete strangers, respect him for it too.
Getting to take The Grandfather to the breakfast today was a big honor. The place was already crowded when we got there about twenty minutes early. We pulled up as close as possible to the wheelchair ramp, intending to help him out and then one of us to park the car. As I helped him into his wheelchair, a young man, probably about fifteen or sixteen, wearing dress slacks and a white shirt and tie, came up, shook The Grandfather's hand, thanked him for his service, and asked if we needed help getting inside.
Inside the front door, there was a small table with a vase of red, white, and blue carnations, and a guest book on it. A smiling woman stood behind it who gave us programs, shook The Grandfather's hand, asked where he served, and offered the guestbook for him to sign. There was a dry-erase board decorated in middle-school-girl style with the gracious message, "Welcome veterans! Thank you for serving!"
Beside it was an American flag and an approximately-four-foot-tall silver-colored statue of a brave-looking soldier boy, his arm in a permanent salute to the vetarans he represented.
Friendly people directed me through the maze of tables to a wheelchair-accessible spot at one. Trissy soon joined us after parking the car, bringing "Frank", and as soon as she was settled beside The Grandfather, I set off to get a few pictures.
There were busy teen-aged young men and women moving among the tables, serving coffee and orange juice as the veterans and their families sat waiting for the program (and breakfast!) to start. Something about the sight just did my heart good. There were probably twenty or more young people dressed in their 'Sunday best', the girls in nice dresses, the boys in dress pants, button-up shirts, and ties. Their faces were fresh, their hair nicely combed, many of them sporting a shiny set of braces when they smiled. They went around, sometimes timidly, sometimes confidently, but all politely, serving their coffee and orange juice.
Soon the program got underway. Many of the young people read tributes, poems, and speeches in honor of veterans and patriotism in general.
Someone turned the flag and soldier-boy statue to face the room. All those who were able rose to their feet, and a young man led us in the Pledge of Allegiance.
A group of four (three young women and a young man) moved to the middle of the room, and their high voices rose to sing the first verse of our national anthem - "The Star-Spangled Banner" - 'a capella'. There were tears in the eyes of one weathered-looking old vet as they finished. That made me cry!
(Pardon the out-of-focus state of the photo. I was trying to take the picture with my left hand, while keeping my right hand in the salute over my heart.)
Another young man stepped to the podium and prayed before the meal, ending, "In Jesus' name, Amen." Rights not exercised are soon lost. I was so thankful to hear him exercising that one.
He began to step away, then leaned back to the microphone and pronounced an emphatic,"Let. Us. Eat!" It was rather unexpected, due to the dignified way the program had been progressing, and provided a bit of humor - I think everyone was very much ready for breakfast by this time (perhaps even a little impatient, some of them), and his proclamation relieved the tension. A good-natured chuckle rippled across the room.
After everyone had gotten their food and the general hubbub of conversation had subsided somewhat as people began to eat, several more of the young men and women spoke. There were two or three groups, where they took turns reading a poem, tribute, or bit of historical fact relating to the establishing of Veteran's Day.
Three of them were the first place, second place, and third place winners in a patriotic writing contest. These three read the essays they'd entered.
The program drew to a close. An officer in a blue uniform stood at the back of the room and played 'Taps' on a silver trumpet. It was a very solemn few moments.
The young people began to come around, passing out soft-sided coolers/lunch boxes to each of the veterans - a gift from the local bank. As each veteran came in and signed the guest book, they'd also been given a little ticket with a number on it. Now, a woman stood at the front and read twenty-four numbers - the number of tables, and the number of centerpieces. The holder of each 'winning number' got to take home the centerpiece from their table. They were pretty too - red, white, and blue carnations, and a small American flag, arranged in a white and blue coffee mug.
The woman who seemed to be 'in charge' of directing the young people and their parts in the event, called them all up to the front of the room. They stood, self-consciously it seemed, in a wavy line as she said several veterans had expressed the desire for them to be recognized for their hard work and good conduct.
They'd waited on the tables, delivered their speeches, helped in the kitchen, and played other parts that were needed to make the event a success. I was so glad - I'd also been very impressed with their service and attitudes, and was thankful that some of the ones they'd been doing this for (the veterans) had spoken up and commended them. They received an enthusiastic round of applause.
The program was over. The room began to stir as people got up to take their leave. We gathered our things, said good-bye to the man who'd been sitting with us (a member of Victory Rd. and a friend of The Grandfather's - he'd met us as we got there, and sat at our table with us for breakfast), and began slowly moving our way through the crowded room. The Grandfather and I waited on the spacious old-fashioned front porch of the restaurant as Trissy went and got the car to pull it up close.
The Grandfather seemed to have really enjoyed himself. Lots of his acquaintances among the local men who were there had stopped to say hello. The country breakfast had been very tasty. The young people and restaurant staff had been courteous and helpful. And the program was enjoyable. Now, as we waited in the sunshine and cool air, he commented, "I wish Mama (The Grandmother) could have come."
He's always been such a social person. I was so glad Trissy and I had taken him.
