Memorial Day. Remembering....

It brings such a smile to my eyes. Grandmother with her little flags flying, her star decals prominent on the kitchen window glass, constantly trading for rations and stamps - making sure that the neighbors all got what they needed when they needed it; for times were tough and supplies were scarce.

I believed that war was a normal part of life. When they told me that it was all over, I hadn't known that such a thing was possible. I took it for granted that men naturally went "over seas" and that women and children lived together - waiting for them to "come home."

I was one year old when Pearl Harbor was attacked.

To my father, Phillip Walton, a civilian engineer who, rejected by the Army for his football knee, nevertheless spent the war years at MacDill AFB in Tampa teaching the pilots to repair their ruined airplanes with whatever material they might have on hand.

To Forrest Cooke, my stepfather, also 4-F,  who built and maintained Liberty Ships at the shipyards in Wilmington.

To Uncle Rodney, Grandmother's baby, the telegraph operator who served in the clean-up crew of a ruined, defeated Germany.

To Uncle Glenward the war correspondent based in a newly liberated Paris.

To my cousin Greer Walton. We went from Tampa to Pensacola to see him off on his Coast Guard Cutter, flags flying and drums rolling.

To each of my fathers-in-law; Rubin L. Atkins, a blacksmith, and Arthur D. Mathews, an optician-turned-medic. Both returned alive and well to live long, happy years after WW ll. Rubin is buried in the National Cemetery in Wilmington.

To my classmates who died in Vietnam. I was never a flower child, turned the protest music off, disdained the hippies and became, instead, a patriot. For your sake and in your memory, I waved the flag that the others were spitting on and I am so happy that I did.

To my husband Wayne Mathews, Army Intelligence, digging his trench in the demilitarized zone of  South Korea during the first days of the Cuban Missile Crisis, all the while begging for his turn in Vietnam.

To our men and women around the world, tonight. Uniformed and guarding, in one way or another, my freedom to write this tribute. May you return to us safely, unharmed.

To every veteran of every war. To every hero of acts of terrorism. To all who serve us in any type of uniform. I've been to walls with your names listed. I've seen you pronounced heroes on television and I've read about you in newspapers and books. I've cried for you and I've said prayers.

Salute! Thank you! You might smile upon us as we picnic and sun, play games, hike, go to beaches tomorrow. Because of each of you, we can live free! We haven't forgotten you.