Today

is Memorial Day.

Today, in just a few moments, I will fire up the smoker and smoke a brisket. Today, with friends and family I will enjoy not only brisket but also the traditional sides, like baked beans, potato salad, cole slaw, and pickles. There will be music and conversation, all enjoyed with generous portions of various cold beverages of choice. All those things will happen today.

None of them have anything to do with Memorial Day.

Today, at some point, it is almost a guarantee that someone will see fit to say “thank you for your service.” Someone will almost certainly mention how much they appreciate the folks currently serving in the military.

None of them have anything to do with Memorial Day.

Memorial Day is not about barbecues, cookouts and picnics. It is not about people like me who served but came home.

Memorial Day is to recognize and appreciate the service of those who served and did not make it home. It is to honor their service and mourn their deaths.

This poem is Memorial Day

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

This picture is Memorial Day

So, too, is this one

And, of course, this one

My brothers and sisters who did not come home, thank you for your honorable and faithful service.