Sneak Peeks by Louise Yeiser McAlpin

Thanksgiving on Memorial Day

 

I know I rewrite the same Memorial Day blog every year, but I do so because Memorial Day is one of my favorite holidays.  Again this year, I celebrated by wearing my father’s World War II Navy jacket to the Sewickley Village parade, where I stood with friends, who joined me in saying thank you to the lines and columns of service people marching by.  After the parade, we attended a brief Memorial service at the Wolcott Gazebo, followed by another at the Sewickley Cemetery.

Memorial Day is the perfect opportunity to honor those who have paid the price for the many freedoms we Americans enjoy and often take for granted.  During this period in our history, where we have such large diversity of cultures within our borders, it is important to protect the most attacked minority—the individual—the minority that wishes to be judged not according to skin color, sexual orientation, or nationality, but by character.  While I fear this test of character is being actively threatened, I’d like to think it still exists, in some degree or another, throughout America.  To be considered on character alone is the mark of true freedom.

The cost of freedom was paid for, and continues to be paid for, by generations of military personnel.  These people come from all walks of life and all corners of the country.  They are our loved ones―fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, grandparents, siblings, friends and children.  They are our precious resources.  Precious and loved.

Thank you to all of our present-day armed forces and past war veterans, and their families, for serving our country so selflessly, despite the dangers and risks inherent in doing so.  Because of you, our country and our world are safer places for everyone.

From Louise

It's Memorial Day

To all the soldiers, sailors and leaders who have kept the United States safe from past and present predators, thank you.  May we always be mindful of the stories history provides us, which demonstrate the fate of peoples, cultures and nations who are either peaceful or unable to defend themselves.  Until nature is reprogrammed to function according to survival of the most cooperative instead of survival of the fittest, may we continue to overcome tyranny and oppression in all its forms, whenever possible and wherever it exists.  To all past veterans and current armed forces, risking all to serve their country, we acknowledge, remember and honor you on this Memorial Day.  Thank you.

From Louise

Memorial Day Moment

A gray and threatening sky greets me this Memorial Day, 2007.  Not the sort of morning that lends itself well to the Memorial Day parade scheduled to march through Sewickley at 10 am, of which I am a part, being a VIP member of the Sewickley Chamber of Commerce and all.  Oh, alright―the real story?  The Chamber felt that it should be involved in this community event, and I got roped into it.  But just for the record, I like the VIP story better.

Memorial Day is one of my favorite holidays.  I celebrate it by pondering the many freedoms and privileges I take for granted on other days, and spend time thanking and thinking of the many Americans, past and present, who have made these freedoms possible.  I think my favorite freedom this year is the freedom to disagree.  The laws of our land tell me that I am allowed to disagree with anyone, even those who are in positions of authority over me, at any time without fear of legalized reprisal.  What does this mean?  Well, when I voice an alternative opinion from my leaders, I don’t expect to be thrown in jail, or have my loved ones thrown in jail, or be pushed off a high-rise building, or molested in a rape room, or starved in a concentration camp, or shocked with cattle prods, or tortured in various and horrible ways, or beheaded.  And, if it weren't for our World War II vets, like my father, most of my friends would not have been allowed to be born, the rest of us would be speaking German, and we would be living our lives with most of our choices stripped from us, in blind, robotic obedience, or else face elimination.

The cost of freedom that we enjoy in this country was paid for, and continues to be paid for, by individuals such as my father.  They come from all walks of life and all corners of the country.  They are our loved ones―fathers, uncles, grandfathers, brothers, friends, and sons.  They are our precious resources.  Precious and loved.

So, I wish to take a moment to thank all of our present-day armed forces and past war veterans for their willingness to serve our country selflessly, despite the dangers and risks inherent in doing so.  Because of you, our country and our world are safer places for everyone.  I'll be thinking of you in heartfelt gratitude as I wave my American flag and march in Sewickley's parade.  And in your honor, I promise I won't complain about my aching feet.

Happy Memorial Day.

From Louise

Memorial Day 2006

Almost every year on Memorial Day, and on the 4th of July as well, I wear my father’s old navy jacket.  Its soft, ragged denim displays 5 dark blue, heavy plastic, standard-issue navy buttons bolted to the fabric with metal fasteners that look like staples.  The jacket, which fit dad perfectly when he was only 18, fits me perfectly, now that I'm only 55, and I wear it with a great deal of daughterly pride.

In World War II, when dad was stationed on the Wasp, all the men on board were given their own personalized denim work jackets with their last names stamped on the backs, in white, easy-to-read, block letters.  Except dad.  I'm not sure what happened, nor is he.  Maybe he stood in the wrong line at the fateful moment, or was catching an illicit nap in a bunk somewhere below, or was swabbing a deck, or standing alone in a faraway corner of the aircraft carrier, looking out to sea and wondering when the war would end.  No matter the reason, which has long been forgotten, he ended up the only sailor on board with no last name printed on his jacket.  So, of course, dad did the only thing any clear-headed, red-blooded American boy would do.  He found a bottle of Clorox bleach, dipped his finger into it, and carefully wrote his name on the jacket himself.   The letters might be somewhat thin and uneven, but they are definitely my dad's handwriting.  And they are definitely proud.  Yeiser.  A member of the United States Navy, serving his country on the USS Wasp CV-18, the same aircraft carrier that shot down the last Japanese war plane of World War II.

The price of freedom which we enjoy in this magnificent country of ours today was paid for, and continues to be paid for, by individuals such as my father.  Not nameless armed machines who plow through forces of resistance to obtain some vague prizes somewhere, but individuals with their own jackets and names and handwriting and ways of solving problems.  They are our fathers, uncles, grandfathers, brothers and sons.  They are not nameless.  They are precious.  They are loved.  They are ours.

I want to say thank you to dad, to all of our past war veterans, and to our present-day armed forces who print their names upon our hearts, and who do all that they can to serve their country and protect us.

Happy Memorial Day.

Day After Memorial Day

A gray and threatening morning greeted me this Memorial Day, 2005.  Not the kind of a morning that lent itself well to the Memorial Day Parade scheduled to stride through downtown Sewickley at 10:00 am.  Every year, I stand with friends Kathy and Rich, cheering the high school bands, waving at our elected officials and wiping away the tears that sting our eyelids when our navy, army, air force and marine veterans march by.  This year was no exception.  As usual, Rich drifted away from us, gravitating towards other men to talk “guy talk” (sports, cars and business) while we ladies went right into “girl talk” (who’s doing what to which house, book club and general Sewickley gossip).  When we finally drifted back together, we laughed over some of the things our grown children have done over the years; like driving a schoolbus across the country for five months with six other kids, or singing in a band and being paid with beer instead of money, or drastic appearance changes, such as orange hair, pink hair, blue hair, goth hair, rocker hair, buzz cuts and spikes.

Memorial Day is one of my favorite holidays.  On this special day, I ponder the many freedoms I usually take for granted, and spend some time appreciating the many men and women who have made those freedoms possible.  The freedom that I rarely hear anyone mention and which is very much in-my-face during this present day of pervasive political dissension is the freedom to disagree, the freedom to express an alternative opinion.  I can disagree with anyone in a position of authority at any time without the fear that I will be shot on sight or that my loved ones will be thrown in jail for life and tortured daily.  Nor will any of us be pushed off a high-rise building or molested in a rape room or starved in a concentration camp, be subject to electrical shocks or endure the slow removal of fingernails and other miscellaneous digits. Or be beheaded.  In America, I have the right to disagree with anyone I want to, without the fear of the same repercussions that occur regularly in other countries around the world.  Do our current day protestors/dissenters ever take a moment to nod their heads in appreciation to the military service people―past, present and future―who have provided a safe environment for them to express their opposing views?

This is the place where I must stop, for I can feel myself inching along toward the realm of politics, a no-no for this blog whose focus is completely non-political; with the exception, of course, of my definitive political statement of November 4, 2004.  So, enough already.  Anyway, I think I made my point.

Back to Sewickley, where we have a small-town, old-fashioned parade―complete with horses, firetrucks, marching bands, Sweet Adelines, bagpipes, balloons, waving flags and candies thrown to eagerly awaiting children.  Every year, I wear my father’s old navy jacket, no matter the weather.  Its soft, ragged denim sports 5 beautiful, dark blue, heavy plastic, standard-issue navy buttons affixed to the fabric with metal fasteners.  The jacket, which once fit dad’s slender 18-year old body, is just the right size for me; and I wear it with a great deal of patriotic, daughterly pride.

In World War II, when dad was stationed on the aircraft carrier, USS Wasp, all men on board were issued their personal denim work jackets with their last names stamped in white on the backs in easy-to-read, large, block letters.  I don’t know what happened to dad’s.  Maybe he stood in the wrong line, missed the appointed time, was catching up on some much needed sleep, was swabbing a deck somewhere or standing alone in a deserted part of the ship, looking out to sea wondering about my mother.  No matter the reason (which has long been forgotten) he ended up being the only man on board with no last name printed on his jacket.  To remedy the situation, dad did what any resourceful, clear-headed, 18 year old American sailor would do under such circumstances.  He procured a bottle of Clorox bleach, dipped his finger into it and wrote his name on the jacket himself.   The letters are a little thin and uneven, but they are clear and proud.  Yeiser.  A member of the United States Navy, aboard the USS Wasp CV-18, serving his country in World War II.  Handing a piece of his contribution down to his daughter who treasures it, wears it, tells it and passes it along whenever possible.

When all is said and done, the price of freedom which we enjoy so nonchalantly in this magnificent country of ours today was paid for, and continues to be paid for, by individuals such as my father.  Not nameless armed machines who plow through forces of resistance to obtain some vague prizes somewhere, but individuals with their own jackets and names and handwriting and ways of solving problems.  They are our fathers, uncles, grandfathers, brothers and sons.  They are not nameless.  They are precious.  They are loved.   

With that said, I wish to thank all of our present-day armed forces and past war veterans for printing their names upon our hearts and for being willing to serve our country so valiantly regardless of the personal risk to themselves and their families.  Thanks to you, our world is a safer place for everyone.