(A re- post for the Fourth of July, photos and text by Corey Amaro)
An American flag folded tightly into the shape of triangle was handed to my mother in honor of my father at his grave-site. Later we were told that if we donated his flag to the American Legion, it would fly on Memorial Day with the other flags of those who served our country.
Before giving back the American Flag we were told to write (on the band that attaches the flag to the pole,) my father's name, where and how he served, and in what war.
Over 350 flags are flying today in our small town. One of them says: George Amaro WWII… Navy.
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One of my favorite memories of my father's is when he talked about the first night at base camp:
"The first night in the bunk hall, young men from every part of the Untied States gathered for bed. Most of them farm boys, barely eighteen-years old, and who had never been passed the city limits of their own towns. I was one of them. Like those other boys, I was proud to be there and scared too.
In the dark of the night the sounds of homesickness started to rumble. Within a few minutes every guy there was bawling. We knew the road ahead of us and the country road behind. We were just young boys who had never left home sharing the same feelings…"
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The other day, after shopping with my daughter Chelsea, we got into the car to go home. Our conversation rolled easily from one subject to another. I was happy to be with her, happy to feel re connected after months of being away. It felt like old times, and I soaked in every moment wishing it would never stop.
In that moment of pure bliss, I thought of my dad. Just like that he popped into my mind's eye. I told Chelsea. I said to her, that I could now think of Vo, my dad, and not cry. That the images of him are not ones at the hospital, that he is alive in a new way in my mind… and with that the faucets by our eyes opened, and we watered that tender place, right there in the parking lot, with our sweet sorrow. Then with tears streaming down our face, Chelsea started the car, and for some reason it struck us funny, and we started to laugh that kind of laugh you get after you have cried, a cry-laugh, that doesn't know which way to go, and we drove home drunk on emotion.
Memorials are for that reason, to share the depth of feelings, by remembering those behind us, and carrying into the future the honor of their gift to us
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What is the Fourth of July? Remembering what I love about being American. My roots, my family, our culture, traditions… wave on Old Glory.
What are you doing this Fourth of July?
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