It's Memorial Day Weekend

Every year around Memorial Day I hear it: the guilt trip. The righteous indignation from those who feel this "holiday" should be celebrated in a certain way. People who feel by "celebrating" at all, we are dishonoring the memories of those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in defense of our nation's interests. Every year, I wonder how those who were stolen from us on the battlefield would want us to spend a weekend dedicated to remembering them. What should we be doing to honor their memories- to make Memorial Day a day of remembrance instead of just an extra day off? This year, I found the perspective I've sought from an unexpected source. I went searching for information on my husband's grandfather to share with our son, and right there I found my answer.

Damien's middle name is shared by his great-grandpa, whom he has never met. Actually, Kyle has never met him either. That's because Army Master Sgt. Glenn E. Nicholson was killed in action in Vietnam on 5 May, 1968. You can read his story, with memories from his widow and children (his daughter, Jackie, is my mother-in-law) here

The following is an excerpt from the article that I found particularly meaningful:

Jackie Wilson said darkness was all she thought about for a long time. In her mind, her father went to heaven. "I used to look up at the clouds all the time -- still do -- knowing he's still watching us, still taking care of us, making sure I do right from wrong," she said. "He's that little angel on my shoulder."

In addition to the heartache and grief, Nicholson's death exposed his family to various adverse situations.

"Father was the first in our housing area to be killed in Vietnam," the airman noted. "The military gave us 30 days to find a new place to live. My mother was a very strong woman and did a remarkable job at raising eight children by herself."

Nicholson still fights back tears when she recalls the things people said to her after her husband was killed in action. "People said, 'Nobody feels sorry for your husband, because he had no business in Vietnam,'" she said with a quivering voice. "You're already torn to pieces, and people would say things like that to you."

She said raising eight children was tough. She stayed home until the youngest was 12 and then went to work in hospitals. "People always ask me, 'How do you do it?'" she said. "I did it because I had to, or walk away. But my kids were always No. 1."

"It wasn't easy, and neither the military nor civilians made it easy to live in Salina, Kan., after our father was killed," Wilson said. "Being a child of a person who served in Vietnam, whether they're living or dead, you were ostracized. As a child, you were spat on, beat up. You can't forget that. My father was called a baby killer right along with all the other men and women who answered their country's call.

Her father's family would have nothing to do with them because her mother was German, she noted. Being ignored and growing up without a father, grandparents, aunts and uncles was tough, she said. Her mother's family lived thousands of miles away in Germany."

Because of the way her family was treated, Wilson said, she has a special admiration for the men and women who served and their children and grandchildren. "We have to continue to be here for our fathers, brothers, sons, daughters so the American people don't forget," she said.

Damien's great-grandpa didn't fight so that we would spend a day of mourning once a year in somber reflection on his sacrifice. He fought because he had eight children and a wife for whom he wanted to secure a better life and future. As a reward for his service, his family was ostracized, degraded and scorned.

In honor of Master Sgt. Glenn E. Nicholson, I shun exclusive behavior. I shun the notion that any family is better or worse than mine because of differences in belief, education, heritage or income. I shun my reclusive impulses that would prohibit the building of community. I think there's no better way to celebrate each service-member who has died for a cause greater than himself or herself than to partake in a positive community outing like a picnic, a campout, a service project. I'd love to see the guilt trips regarding such events go away.

This Memorial Day, I resolve to serve my fellow man. I resolve to seek out those in need, who may be excluded by those around them like Jackie's family was excluded. I resolve to teach my children to love others. To treat them as they would like to be treated. To recognize the inherent worth of those around them, though they may speak differently, eat differently, act differently.

The privilege of community was gifted to us because someone, or many someones, at some point, placed the value of happiness, liberty, and freedom for posterity above the value of their individual lives. I've never been given a gift with the condition that one day a year, I must put that gift away in a closet and sit somberly in remembrance of the giver. So this year, I went looking for insight on how best to express gratitude for the sacrifices made by loved ones gone before.

My answer was right there, in the wise words of my mother-in-law:

"We have to continue to be here for our fathers, brothers, sons, daughters so the American people don't forget."