REMEMBERING THE FALLEN ...

It is Memorial Day. Do you remember why? Is it about the "first day" of summer? No! Is it about when to wear summer whites? No.

It is about remembering the ones who stood for this country - their country - and ours and gave their lives to protect people who often did not know or care for them.

We, as a nation, have produced generations of patriots. Men and women who willingly gave of their time and talents to protect and serve our country and often other countries who were in need. As payment for that service, far too often, these generous, brave patriots made the ultimate sacrafice: their lives.

I have been a part of the military community since I was 17. My husband was already serving in the Air Force when we married. He was committed to a demanding mistress. When she called, he had to go - leaving family and friends behind to accomplish whatever mission the mistress required. It did not matter the day, (December 25th, July 4th), he served when called. I have not always understood that, but I knew it was his calling and he went.

This was not my first experience with the military. In 1952, when I was 5 years old (Okay! Now it is official I am OLD!), I have one of my first really vivid memories. It was winter - nearly Christmas or just after. My mother's cousin, Red, and his son Odell were visiting us. Red sent Odell to the grocery for lots of eggs and milk to make eggnog. My Dad said it was a good waste of eggs and milk, not to mention the liquor he poured in it. Odell who was very young - about 20 years old - passed on drinking the eggnog and asked for a coke.

I remember sitting on the floor, coloring in a oversized coloring book. It was about a circus. I showed it to Odell and asked him if he wanted to color a page. My mother rebuked me for "bothering" Odell with that mess. Odell, pulled the book across the floor and told her it was okay - he liked to color and then he proceded to color (very well) in my new book. The next day he left for Korea.

Korea. Not even a war. They officially referred to it as the "Korean Conflict". They shot bullets at people. It was a war. Months after Odell colored in my book, there came a knock on our door. Odell was dead. Killed by bullets in that "Non-War". With the possible exception of my father's death, I do not remember my mother ever being so destroyed. I can see her laying across her bed sobbing. Totally disolved in tears.

As a five year old, I did not understand what had happened. I had never seen death enter a home before. It was not a welcome visitor. I asked my mother about school. She had always been so strict about getting ready on time. She sobbed from her pillow - Odell is dead- you don't need school today!

I still have that coloring book. My mother must have put it away as I doubt that I would have known to do such a tribute. Keeping the last thing he touched in our lives before he left to die. The colors are still as bright today as they were in 1952 when he sat crossed legged on our living room floor and helped me decorate the circus in that book.

My mother died in 1970. She grieved until the day she died for that lost boy. She shook her head over Viet Nam and proclaimed we just never learn. She had watched her younger brothers serve their country in WWII. She did not want to give up another piece of her heart to a lost soldier.

Maybe we do learn. We learn that life and freedom are precious. To achieve them, many have paid everything they possess, even their lives. Those who loved them know how much their service cost.

Today, we remember - or we should - the Odell Hightowers of the world. Those young (and not so young) who gave of their time and talents to stand tall and say "I serve".

God Bless them for this gift! Because of them, We can stand tall today (with our plates of BBQ and potato salad in our hands) and say I AM AN AMERICAN - AND DAMN PROUD OF IT!