Of Bears and Penguins

Remembrance Day

I was waiting to catch a flight out of St. Louis last Friday evening.

There were a handful of servicemen and women - all Army, destined for Fort Sam Houston, waiting for the same flight. I noticed an older lady with frosted hair and lovely jewelry talking to them, engaging them, asking about themselves. I knew she must have been from Texas when I heard her say, "Well, bless your heart."

I thought about buying them a round of beers, and then I looked at them, and realized that most of them were not old enough to drink. This was confirmed when I heard one of them tell their age to the nice woman with frosted hair.

They were wearing camoulflage, heavy boots, and heavy bags. They looked impossibly young, but assured at the same time. When they rose to board the plane, the folks waiting at the gate applauded.

Several Novembers ago, I took part in Remembrance Day in London. Where for the weeks leading up to 11 November, old soldiers stand in the tube stations and sell paper poppies, and everyone buys one, and wears it everyday. There was no coat lapel that did not bear the red paper construction that reminded of those poppies yet rustling in the wind upon Flanders Field, and of the quiet crosses, and of the stilled lives that lie beneath.

And there was solidarity, all of us wearing our poppies, remembering who has gone before and protected what's dear to all of us.

So I think of my own Grandfathers, and my Dad who served. I think of the lady I worked with in London who was a child during the bombing of London. Whose family refused to leave the city. I remember her talking about what it was like to be at play and hear a bomb descending upon a city street. I think of the soldiers and pilots who defended London while she was just a girl.

I think of all the kids I grew up with who went on to serve in all the branches. Who have served and serve in the war in Iraq and in Afghanistan.

And tomorrow I hope you'll join me in raising a glass and prayer for all of them.