Paul Sassone

I am a child of the Second World War.

Those warriors who stormed the beaches of Iwo Jima, who drove back the Germans at the Battle of the Bulge were our fathers and uncles.

Our dads saved the world.

So, for my generation Memorial Day was more than a day off and a reason for a parade.

There was something missing in many households then — men. Too many families had holes where fathers and uncles should have been.

My family was no exception.

My mother’s brother, Vincent, went to war and never came back. There was a core of sadness in my mother for the rest of her life. He was a family wound that never really healed.

There were 405,309 Vincents who died in that war.

Another uncle of mine was shot, but lived to come home.

So, my family knew something of the meaning of Memorial Day.

But if personal experience was insufficient, memorials to the fallen were all around us.

What park did not boast a glass-fronted list of community residents who served, the living as well as the dead?

And how many olive-drabbed tanks, canons and jeeps sat immobile, but defiant on park land? Deadly weapons now jungle gyms for us kids to play on.

Some of the memorials and military hardware remain. But, many have been relegated to the dust heap of history.

The lists of the fallen have fallen to their own misplaced optimism.

There was an assumption that once World War II ended the lists of the dead would be completed and end. There would be no need to update them.

Of course, that was wrong.

Enemies change, but war goes on.

Americans never have stopped dying for their country.

They are dying today.

Ideally, the best way to mark Memorial Day would be if it no longer was necessary.

But, alas, that is not likely.

–Remembering those who died for our country–