The 99 year old World War II veteran got out of the car himself.
Everyone has a different experience returning to the place they grew up in. Nostalgia for childhood, alarm at the sight of change, a mix of memories good and bad flooding back in. A year ago, I went to a memorial day parade in the suburb I grew up in. I felt a mix of it all.
It was a bright, warm late spring morning, the sun seemingly directly overhead already. I decided to walk from my neighborhood to downtown. I passed the white picket fences and green lawns. Families were still trickling in, the good spots almost already taken.
Kids rode in the back of pickup trucks, little leaguers and soccer players mostly. The middle school and high school bands marched. Civic organizations held banners and the community organizers marched behind them.
The local leaders, of course, were front and center.
The floats were scattered. The Korean War veterans usually had a large display depicting a battle scene. Or maybe that was Vietnam. They likely both had floats, but I was late and maybe I had missed them.
I decided to walk away from the parade route, and took a turn into the center of downtown. A few shops were open, and a few people were shopping. Another turn and I found myself next to a new Acai bowl shop with customers sitting outside.
I never remembered anything being open on Memorial Day.
As I rounded the turn of the new cafe I saw a father, son, and grandfather. The son in a baseball uniform and the grandfather in camouflage and fake blood smeared all over his face. Some of the dye was splattered on his Vietnam War uniform. The father wore khakis.
City hall was where the parade ended. As I had walked away from downtown some of the last cars were coming in. Around one of them a small group of people had gathered. There sat one of the last surviving World War II veterans.
I asked his family, perhaps selfishly, if I could thank him. He got out, stood up straight, and looked at me.
I don’t think he fully understood what I said.
I like to envision America as a near blank canvas, with only a few dots. We are, relatively speaking, very young. Despite this, we have done so much in the pages of history we have written.
We have the potential to do more, and we will.
At this moment, it feels like we are somewhere between a veteran covered in blood and an Acai bowl shop.
The reality is we’re both.