May 29, 2007

• On Memorial Day, I always think of my Daddy, and of Arlington National Cemetery.
  I
  guess the first time I remember going to Arlington Cemetery with my
  Navy pilot father was in 1966, when he was stationed in the Washington
  area.
  I think it was just Daddy, my sister Cissy and me. I was about 11, and Cissy would have been ten.
  I'll
  never forget the rows and rows, acres and acres, of identical white
  tombstones, shining in the sunshine against the green grass.
  Daddy
  told us this was a special cemetery, where only people who had served
  our country in the military, and their families, could be buried. He
  told us that he'd probably be buried there himself one day. We could
  tell the idea made him proud

  

  When I was 11, the idea of my daddy's
  death was inconceivable. He was only in his early 30s himself then,
  healthy and strong and smiling.
  He showed us President Kennedy's
  grave, and the beautiful white Custis-Lee mansion on the hillside, but
  what I remember most about that first visit to Arlington Cemetery is
  going to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
  Standing on the curving
  steps beside my father, looking down at the huge white marble tomb
  gleaming in the sunshine. The uniformed honor guard marching back and
  forth with his rifle on his shoulder, unbelievably straight and solemn,
  shoes shining like mirrors.
  

  

  Later, when I was in my twenties,
  several visits to Arlington Cemetery linked that special place forever
  in my mind with Memorial Day, and with my Daddy.
  It was usually
  around the end of May that I would make my annual pilgrimage from
  Mississippi "home" to Alexandria, Virginia, where my parents were
  living while Daddy served at various places in the Washington area
  during the latter part of his Navy career, including the Pentagon,
  where he was an assistant to the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
  He was a
  member of a national fraternity of military aviators called the
  "Dadaelian Society." Each year on Memorial Day, a designated Dadaelian
  would go to Arlington Cemetery to lay a wreath on the Tomb of the
  Unknown Soldier.
  For several years, Daddy was the one chosen for
  that task. He would put on in his spotless dress blues, with his gold
  aviator's wings gleaming on his chest, and the four gold stripes of a
  captain on his sleeve. Mama, my three sisters, our little brother, and
  me, with my first son in my arms, would watch the ceremony from the
  marble steps while Daddy marched out, carrying the red, white and blue
  wreath on a stand, and presented it, with a crisp salute, at the foot
  of the Tomb.
  Daddy considered it an honor to pay tribute to his
  nation's fallen warriors. He had left friends behind in Vietnam, and he
  had the greatest respect for the men and women who had died in the
  service of the country he loved. His children were always very proud
  that our dad played a role in helping keep our country free.
  Being a
  "military brat" defined much of my life. Growing up on Naval air
  stations all around the country, I had been the perennial "new girl" in
  15 different schools. I'd been left behind, with my mother and sisters,
  for ten months at a stretch while Daddy served aboard aircraft carriers
  around the world. I'd prayed every night that my daddy wouldn't be shot
  down flying over North Vietnam, like several of my friends' fathers
  had. I'd tried to comfort my mama when she'd cry because she missed her
  husband. It wasn't always an easy life for our family, but it was one
  we were all deeply proud to be part of. And Arlington Cemetery, with
  its ranks of white tombstones, was a symbol of all of that.

  

  My last
  visit to Arlington was on a bitterly cold February day in 2005. My
  family walked slowly behind a horse-drawn caisson that carried a
  flag-draped casket. A 21-gun salute was sounded, and the heart-piercing
  notes of "Taps" were sounded by a bugler on a nearby hillside.
  This
  Memorial Day, and last, a new white tombstone stands in the ranks on
  one of Arlington's hillsides, within sight of the Pentagon. Captain
  James Donald Taylor, USN.
  A dear Navy friend of Daddy's was with us
  when we laid him to rest at Arlington. Jerry, long retired from the
  Navy, is now a businessman in the Washington area.
  After Taps, after
  the folded flag was presented to my stepmother, as we were walking back
  to our cars in the bitter wind, we looked back toward the grave site to
  see Uncle Jerry turn around and walk alone back to Daddy's fresh grave.
  He just stood there for a minute, straight and tall in his civilian
  clothes, and then, squared his shoulders, slowly raised his right hand
  to his forehead and saluted his fallen friend.
  These are images that
  are in my mind this Memorial Day, images of Arlington Cemetery. My
  father in his uniform, saluting the unknown soldiers in the Tomb, and
  years later, my Daddy's silver-haired comrade, with tears in his eyes,
  saluting his friend.
  In my heart today, I'm saluting not only my
  father, but all those who have served our country, especially those who
  have lost their lives in that service.

  By Celia DeWoody
  PuUblished in the Harrison DailtyTimes, May 28, 2007
  Copyright CPI, Inc. 2007
  

  

  
  
  

  • 8:37 pm
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