Lest We Forget

Here's the piece that I am going to read in my class today. This class is a memoirs class so it's true stuff. I did take some poetic licence, becasue I am not all freaky about memoirs to the point where I tell you that there were exactly 1,493 burrs on the sweater she was wearing when he accepted her award for most obscure resident of the year.


Lest We Forget.

I questioned myself this year why Remembrance Day is so important to me. I know that at eleven o’clock I am to observe a moment of silence, and I do, every year. I’ve realized that for the past few years my thoughts have wandered from reciting the poem “In Flanders Fields” to my opinions of the Iraq war, to a decimated Korean landscape to my grandfather. I spent a lot of time this Remembrance Day thinking of him. I also lamented my lack of a poppy on my lapel. Grampa always made sure that I had one, and after he passed away, I always had a stockpile of them, in his memory, pinned to the ceiling of my car.

My brother and I grew up in a small house my mother bought in a neighbourhood which would be considered a few blocks from my grandparent’s house. But in little leg distance, it was torturous walk, one that was made often, down Turner, past the ball park, carefully along the side of Princeton, watching diligently for cars, between orchards on Vernon and finally onto Mack. Grannie and Grampa would always welcome us and encouraged us to come often. I spent a vast majority of my childhood there, learning to bake, garden, sew, knit and fix my bike.
Often we would start our Remembrance Day at their house. I would wait for my Grampa to come out of his room in his full Legion uniform. I especially loved the metals on his jacket, there were so many of them, and they made me proud. He must have been so important to have them all, I thought to myself as a child. I never learned what each represented, but it never mattered, they made my Grampa a hero.
We would go downtown, my mom, my brother, Grannie, Grampa and I, to the cenotaph where there would be a ceremony. Different groups would walk somberly down the path of the cenotaph to place their wreath with the others. I once placed a wreath; I walked down the path in my Girl Guide uniform, with some of the patches hastily sewn on crooked the night before. I was acutely aware of all of the dignitaries of Peachland watching me, I was nervous. I managed to glace at my Grampa who was standing, so proud in his uniform with the other veterans, he smiled at me a small smile, and I placed the wreath and hurried back to my place with other Guides and Brownies.
I always liked to watch the pretty Miss. Peachland and her Princesses place their wreathes. They were always so fabulously mature and pretty. The year I placed one as one of the contestants I didn’t feel pretty and fabulous, I felt the same nerves as I had five years previous. The ceremony would always finish with a rendition of taps, played by a local trumpet player. Everyone would leave; all of the veterans would retire to the Legion. My mom would take me back to my grandparent’s house, and she would go back to the Legion with my grampa. I don’t know if they reminisced happy memories, or sad ones. I am sure it was a mix of both.

The year that I competed in the Ambassador of Peachland (a revamped Miss. Peachland contest, which allowed boys to compete) I was sponsored by the Peachland Legion. There were two businesses that wanted to sponsor me, my mom’s friend’s insurance company and the Legion. For me there was no debate, my grampa was a retired president of the Legion, so I was Miss. Peachland Legion, branch 69. I wore my sash proudly and on the day of the crowning, I wore it over my formal gown. Near the end of the ceremony each contestant was presented with a gift from their sponsor, who would come from the audience to the stage for the presentation. When it was my turn to receive my gift, I expected the current president to come up, but instead I watched Grampa rise and make his way to the front of the gym. He was in his Legion uniform, and although weakened from the cancer that he had just been diagnosed with, he walked proudly up the stairs to the stage. I knew I was supposed to stay seated and rise when he got to the top, but I couldn’t. I jumped up and rushed down the stairs and met him half way. It was there he presented me with my gift, a gold identification bracelet. The gym was crowded and there were news crews from up and down the valley to document the coronation of the first Mr. Peachland, and I cried in front of all of them. I cried for the pain I knew he was in. I cried for his bravery to come on that night. I cried because I was so happy that he did, and I cried because I was so nervous and I wanted to win.
Everyone who was a Peachlander knew that it was my Grampa and understood why I was crying, but the Emcee was kind enough to explain it to the crowd, which was also comprised of other royalty and journalists. I didn’t win that night, but I was awarded most improved contestant. Later that evening I learned that I made half of the people in the room cry, moving them to tears as I raced down the stairs and enveloped him in a hug.
Grampa and I didn’t make it to the Remembrance Day ceremonies that year, he was too sick, and by then I was staying with him, taking care of him since my Grannie was also sick and in the hospital. I don’t remember which day it was that I called the ambulance, but I can’t seem to forget November 28, 1994, only two months after I turned 17.

In the years between then and now I have made it to a couple more Remembrance Day ceremonies downtown Peachland, always wearing a poppy, always standing somber. The precession from the Legion dwindled as they marched from the branch, which is directly down the street perpendicular to the cenotaph. I would see my Grampa amongst them; he’s in their pride, their stoicism and in their memories. The years that I wasn’t able to make it to Peachland I still wore a poppy, even in Korea. But this year I didn’t, I was distracted with my new projects and pursuits of great grandchildren. I did take a moment to remember him, and the lessons he taught me. So even though I mostly remember him, I will remember the other wars, and those who fought and fight in them.

ok so now what do you think?