Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Hearts and Humor – A Michael Smith Column

May 28, 2007

   My goodness! I recieved great comments on last night's
story about how Ginny and I met, fell in love, and married.
I won't post them tonight, because this is a special
day in memory of those who lost their lives for our
freedom, and Ginny and I are going to eat on the deck and
play a game of scrabble.

This story is a repeat. In Canada, we remember the soldiers
who lost their lives for freedom on November 11TH.

As a Canadian in the USA, I am just now learning the the
meaning of Memorial Day. Canadians wear poppies on 11/11.
US citizens wear them on Memorial Day.

I don't have a Memorial Day story, so I'll post my 11/11
story instead.

Last November, I asked for poppies, because I couldn't buy
one here in the USA on that date. So many of you sent me
poppies. I have a collection to last me years.
Thanks to all who sent me a poppy.
I cherish them.

Why is the poppy special?


    Here's why.


    A Canadian poet and medical officer, John McCrae, penned a
   
poem during the first world war. In Canada, everyone wears a

poppy in memory of those who died for our freedom.

         In Flanders Fields by John McCrea
        

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.


    Now for my story:


                        The Meaning Of 11

    Here in the USA it is known as Veteran's Day. In Canada, it is
   
known as Remembrance Day and is a national Holiday.


    The number 11 took on a new meaning after 9/11. Before then, it
   
signified freedom.


    I had no idea what it meant. To me it was just another holiday.
   
A day when stores were closed and more importantly, there was no

school. I knew about the war,  but I was free to play. I knew

people died for our freedom, but I could sleep in. I knew my parents

had little when they were growing up because of the war, but I had

food on my plate and a day to watch TV. The real meaning of the day

was distant to me.


    Years later my daughter joined the Brownies. The first year she
   
was a member, I set the alarm to wake us on the morning of 11/11.

She had to participate in a parade. Every Brownie, Girl Guide, Cub

Scout, and Scout had to participate in this parade in remembrance

of those who died for our freedom.


    My wife and I left our daughter with the Guide leader and
   
proceeded to the Canadian Legion where we waited for her. The kids

paraded a mile along the coastal roads of Nova Scotia, carrying

their flags high and proud. As we waited for her, the veterans

arrived - old men, long past their prime. They'd fought in the

trenches and watched their comrades die. Many came in

wheelchairs. Some limped. A few stood strong.


    They joined the kids and walked as proudly as they could
   
to the legion where a band waited. The band played, speeches

were made, and on the 11th month, the 11th day, the 11th hour,

the 11th minute, and the 11th second there began two minutes of

silence.


    I looked at the veterans. Their sacrifices allowed us to stand
   
there that day. They gave us our freedom. The cold seeped through

my jacket. I reached out and held my wife. A tear trickled down

my cheek.


   For years, I slept as these brave men still marched in the
  
cold November air in remembrance for those who died in battle

beside them. It took my daughter to make me realize the importance

of the day.


    I never missed another Remembrance Day.


    Years later, because of work, I was separated from my family. I

was in another city, but on Remembrance Day, I heard there was going

to be a service in the city square. I was in Saint John, New Brunswick.

I put on my jacket and a tie, walked the mile to the service, stood

in the damp cold with a poppy proudly displayed on my lapel.

    I watched those brave men once again march for our freedom.
   
I don't know if it was because I was away from my family or the

sight of those old men still walking proudly, but the memory of

that service never fades from my memory.


    They marched, wheeled, and limped to the city square. The mayor
   
gave a speech. The two minutes of silence came. A bagpipe began to

play "Amazing Grace." After the first chorus, a second one joined in,

along with a small band. On the third chorus, more bagpipes joined

and a brass band began to play. The building of sound, the magic of

the moment is something I will never forget.


   Tears filled my eyes that day, as the blood must have filled

the trenches in battle. The moment is burned in my mind forever.


    On November 11th,  please take a moment to remember those

who fought for our freedom and those that continue to fight for it.


    May God bless them all.


Michael T. Smith

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