Today is always an odd holiday to me. I honestly never know how to honor it or not feel I am taking something or someone for granted. I remember a time when I lived in Lake Havasu City, AZ. Memorial Day was the weekend that kicked off summer and brought hundreds of boaters out to spend the weekend skiing and sunbathing on their pontoons or houseboats. I’ll admit for as a junior higher I loved that the beach was 100 degrees and we had all day to hang with our friends and no school in sight until September. The London Bridge was lined with American Flags from one end to the next and many a time my family went to a memorial service and sang the National Anthem for a local rotary club. 

My dad’s father served in the Army in the last horse infantry of World War II. He came home a wounded man with many demons that no one had the tools back in the 40s to help him navigate his PTSD. When my grandfather died in 1990 his funeral was the first I had ever seen a 21 gun salute. I was 14 and it was terrifying and breathtaking all at the same moment. My grandfather had not talked much of his time in the military but I knew he was proud of how he had served as a young man. My dad was in the military for a short time as he transitioned from college to his professional career. He signed up with the Air Force and was quickly put in charge of his company’s health and fitness. He ran all the sports tournaments for Edwards AF base and before he left he completely managed the Summer pool and swim programs. Three years into his military career he was offered a full-time teaching position and was honorably discharged after he and my mom had their second child. My dad was always passionate about showing respect to all branches of the military but it was not a huge part of our daily life or conversations. At times stories of his childhood friends who never came home from Vietnam would sprinkle into conversations. He always felt lucky that he had not been drafted and also struggled with shame that he never served in that capacity. 

After marrying my husband, I was introduced to a different perspective on the military since both sides of my husband’s family served in the Navy. His grandfathers both served life-long careers which were handed down to the next two generations. My father-in-law served 20 years in cryptography and his eldest son went into the Navy and served a 4-year term before becoming a police officer. They even sailed on the same ship over 20 years apart. My husband however did not have the same passion for going into the armed forces and chose a path in computer science finishing with a year degree from PLNU. Every year since being a part of this family I have seen the heart that these families have for our country as they spent many years serving their country. My husband’s family was stationed in Hawaii, the Azores (a small island off of Portugal), and ended their 20-year stint in Pensacola, Florida, home of the Blue Angels. I have learned to appreciate their patriotism but still at times hold these traditions at arm’s length to a degree. I find myself a bit saddened when we as a country have seen blurred lines between patriotism, Christianity, and family traditions. It can get a bit convoluted and I try to keep some of it as separate as possible. 

My husband and I have lived in El Cajon, CA. A city 25 miles east of Downtown San Diego. We chose to live here many years ago because it was a much warmer climate since we are still desert rats and thrive in 90-degree weather. Between the fact that I was freezing most of the time by the beach, this neighborhood allowed us to afford a 3 bedroom condominium purchase. It is a very diverse area and at the time we moved in it was a mix of Hispanic, Black, Caucasian, and a handful of Arabic-speaking neighbors. Within 5 years time of us living out this way, the demographic changed almost overnight when over 80,000 refugees migrated to El Cajon from Iran and Iraq when there was much distress with ISIS at the time. Within 3 years the restaurants within walking distance from our house went from taco shops to falafels and gyro eateries. We had neighbors moving in with luggage tags straight from the boat who did not speak any English and were very terrified of dogs and loud noises. Soon we began to get to know these neighbors. I’ll never forget about 5 years after one of the elder gentlemen in our neighborhood had moved in he rode up on his bicycle, he was about 70 at the time and when he saw me, loudly proclaimed, “ I am a US Citizen!!!” The pride in his voice and the smile on his face I will never forget. He was beaming and all I could do was smile back and return his hug sharing in his glee and pride.  A few years later I was working at our neighborhood grocery store and  I struck up a conversation with an older Arabic man who told me how much he missed the pomegranate trees and citrus in his country. He had a teary look in his eye as he described the lush landscape of his youth but then he said in his broken English, “But we’re free here.” I remember feeling chills after he expressed that to me. Just a few weeks ago, while I was walking my dog and waiting for the pedestrian sign to change a young Chaldean man on his bike started chatting with me and said, “It’s so great here! I love it here. America! I don’t have my license yet but that’s ok. I can ride my bike and go wherever I want!” He patted my puppy’s head and waved goodbye as the light changed. I giggled and asked myself, “Why did he tell me that?” But I pondered his words the rest of my 3-mile loop. 

As I sit here reflecting on all of these moments where complete strangers or my dear neighbor who have had to leave their home, their families, and all they know have expressed their joy of freedom. Freedom to go to the grocery store whenever they need to, no wild dogs roaming the streets in terror, or bombs going off in their local markets or churches. I think about the last two years specifically, our government has looked like a ****-show yet we have to remember that we are one of the freest countries in the world. And that came at a cost and still does. As I write these words I will admit I spent the morning cleaning my porch and taking the day slow because I was given the day off and I am so grateful for that yet, I struggle to want to sit and think of the lives lost over the hundreds of years that this country has been a country. I know that there are many moments of shame and grief that this country has caused us over the past 200 + years but I do believe that it is important to say thank you for these freedoms whether we believe in war or whether the current or previous leadership is screwing up or has screwed up. What is important is that we do our part in our local arenas and that we say thank you to those who have served because I have heard too many stories that the grass isn’t greener and those who have given up so much to come here know the gifts we were born into and I hope you and I do not take it for granted.