memorial day

"No more scars and stripes, just stars and stripes for all God's children."
-Sojourner Truth

I started playing the trumpet when I was in 5th grade. I really wanted to play the drums, but my parents had access to a flute and a trumpet and told me choose between them. There was no way I wanted to be some wimpy flute player, and my cousin Ben played the trumpet, so I went for that. Having musical talent, a prior introduction to music, and a lazy-yet-competitive spirit, I developed just enough skill to stay ahead of others in the band but not enough to be fantastic. I liked playing, and still do- when else do you get congratulated for blowing raspberries into a tube?

In 9th grade, I sat second chair in the band, next to Ben in first chair. (Ben's getting married! Woo-hoo!) Each Memorial Day, the high school marching band would send two trumpeters to local VFW ceremonies to play Taps over the veteran's graves. Ben and I went together, that year. He stood near the VFW folks and played lead; I stood behind a hill or a large gravemarker and played echo. We went to three or four graveyards, talking in-between about relatives who had served or were currently serving in the armed forces. I'm shy, anyway, but I've rarely been so glad to have something to hide behind while playing, not to mention a good friend to talk with.

I played lead on Taps on Memorial Day through the rest of high school, each time with a different fellow bugler. Playing lead put me facing the ceremony, listening over and over to the homilies, the prayers, seeing the families reliving old griefs and the old veterans in wheelchairs, palsied and their wives standing behind them holding their crisp hats on straight. The band would march in the town's memorial parade to the VFW and line up to play the anthem, but I'd always be pulling in just in time to play Taps one last time. Each time I played, but especially at the town VFW, I'd try to square my shoulders a bit straighter inside my uniform, making sure that my pants stripes were even and the plume on my hat was standing tall.

My family would often go to a friend's cottage on the lake after the parade, and if I was lucky I got to sit out on the dock with a book and read. Or pretend to read. I think I spent a lot of time staring at my toes in the water and wondering about those families saying one more ceremonial goodbye to a loved one, a friend, or even to people they'd never met. Those were the folks who interested me the most. I talked to a lady once who said she didn't know any veterans buried in the cemetery, but felt like someone should come in honor of the ones who died so long ago that nobody remembered them. She got choked up, talking about Civil War vets with nobody straightening the flags on their graves and leaving flowers, and it choked me up too.

Last night at a coffeehouse, a friend told me that the army makes digital trumpets. There aren't enough armed forces folks who can play a bugle, and too many funerals. The 'buglers' just put the instrument to their lips and press the first valve, which is like a play button for the call. I didn't verify his story, but it sounds about right. Who has time to teach someone how to grieve, anyway?

I didn't go to a graveyard today, and I don't think I will on Monday. I don't want to see the ceremonies again, but I think I'll go tomorrow and look for some old stones that I can hum Taps over on my own.

Here are some verses from West Point:

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the hills, from the lake,
From the sky.
All is well, safely rest,
God is nigh.

Go to sleep, peaceful sleep,
May the soldier or sailor,
God keep.
On the land or the deep,
Safe in sleep.

Love, good night, Must thou go,
When the day, And the night
Need thee so?
All is well. Speedeth all
To their rest.

Fades the light; And afar
Goeth day, And the stars
Shineth bright,
Fare thee well; Day has gone,
Night is on.

Thanks and praise, For our days,
'Neath the sun, Neath the stars,
'Neath the sky,
As we go, This we know,
God is nigh.