Feeling Patriotic

Feeling sentimental. I am a sucker for massive celebrations designed to honor sacrifice and draw on the emotional bond of community.
I cried a little during our local Memorial Day parade- hoping that people thought I suffered from terrible allergies.
To put my feelings in a nutshell, I was thinking, "Thanks for saving my slice of Americana" and I hoped that all those in a foreign place carry memories like mine locked somewhere in their minds. And I hoped that in some strange way, this simple reverence brought some measure of peace to those who had lost someone dear.
When the question is posed what is war for; I suppose in the basest sense, it is insuring that all the those around me, known and unknown have the right to be who they are.
That the grey haired ladies from the local nursing home can sit merrily waving flags in their wheel chairs, though not many years ago they sat in my place with no grey hair and children all around them.
That the Brownies and Girl scouts and soccer players have the freedom to grow.
That an elderly lady wearing a flak jacket, American flag socks and stiff orthopedic shoes can kiss all the cops as they march by.
That the dignified Knights of Columbus and Lions Club gentlemen can march stiffly and straight-faced while wearing large, cockaded hats.
That a middle class white couple can sit in the sunshine with their adopted children eating pancakes and sausage from the local church fundraiser.
That a group of teens can pass back and forth with sideways hats and chains, one carrying a snake wrapped up in a hoodie under his arm.
That the same boy, his pants sagging precariously low can ride his bike in front of the parade at least fifteen times in an hour.
The the war protesters can march in a war memorial parade with "peace" and "stop this war now" signs, in perfect confidence that they are safe.
That high school bands can march in terrible jumpsuits while sweating, yet keeping perfect time to Yankee Doodle Dandy.
That the fire trucks and ice cream trucks and soldiers marching in cadence would always incite the same sentimental feeling in my own children.
That this perfect melting pot in my own backyard has the freedom to be free. Thanks a lot to those who died for my piece of heaven. Laters.