My town is Rockwellian Americana in motion when it celebrates Memorial Day. Each year, much of the town gathers along Lake Road to witness an accordion parade line. It bunches up as the Cub Scouts shuffle atop each other's heels and then thins out as the convertibles carrying city dignitaries roll by. Throughout, bikes cruise the sidelines, parents chatter, and two-year-olds rush into the parade to take up their places among the trombones. It's all quite noisy, at least until the Veterans of Foreign Wars walk solemnly by. Then the crowd quiets, and we adults stand a little straighter. Soon a wave of applause ripples on either side of the street, enveloping the vets as they pass.

Every year the vets look older.  More alarming, every year there are fewer men bearing and walking alongside our flag. I'm not the only adult offering my applauding appreciation and silently wondering: "What happens when you're no longer here? Who will remind us that every conflict has a human face? That every victory is won by heart and soul? That in every defeat, we lose a part of ourselves?"

Who will teach our kids about these vets or why you put your hand over your heart when you sing (albeit badly) the National Anthem. The Scouts may, an inspired teacher may, even the church may, but don't count on it. The job is yours and mine.
Our kids are taught history in school and patriotism by our side. It's no easy lesson. Our children are the heirs to a politically skeptical age. We have learned that the government misinforms—sometimes intentionally. Governing leaders are flawed in ways we'd rather not know about. Recent wars have been fought on slippery and even controversial principles. How do you teach love of country in such an age? Maybe we start by telling the stories of war and the reasons for remembrance. June 6th, for instance, marks the 55th anniversary of the Allied invasion of France's Normandy beaches to free Europe from Hitler's maniacal hold. In the earliest hours of the beach landings, one in every two men was wounded or killed. Some of them spent an hour in the water trying just to make it to shore, easy targets all the while. Here the story becomes personal, for the victory of the Allies was based on the individual decisions of thousands. Out of courage or simple duty, they offered themselves on freedom's altar. Their stories are what we remember and what we need to honor.

My husband and I visited the American Cemetery above the Normandy beaches in 1997. We saw 9,835 crosses and stars of David. They surrounded us from every point—an orderly tribute to heroes who died amidst terrifying chaos. I never sat on any of the many white benches there on the grounds. I was afraid I would lose the thin veil of composure I managed to wrap around myself. I kept walking. So many crosses. So many with a death date of 6-6-44. For a moment, I saw young men standing in the place of those crosses. Would-be husbands, fathers, grandfathers who would, in fact, never be. They'd left their future on the beaches below me. I put a small American flag at the base of the Monument to Youth there. It seemed so small, so trivial an offering. They may never know, but I will never forget. War correspondent Ernie Pyle opened his June 12th, 1944, story this way: "In this column, I want to tell you what the opening of the second front entailed, so that you can know and appreciate and forever be humbly grateful to those both dead and alive who did it for you."

They did it for me as well. And for my kids. Observe Memorial Day with more than four flats of impatiens and a second cup of coffee. Take your kids to the parade. Watch for the vets carrying the flag and know that the flag doesn't just pass by us, it passes to us. It is ours to carry and pass to our children. Will you?

Stacy DePaolis Windahl  is the daughter of Joan and Bro. Richard M. DePaolis, 32°, Valley of Wilmington, N.C., who sent this essay, (here edited for length) to the Journal. In Bay Village, Ohio, Stacy writes a column, “Passionate Parenting,” for the Bay Press, a monthly publication of Bay Presbyterian Church. Mrs. Windahl is a graduate of Kenyon College and Baldwin–Wallace College. She is Director of Communications for Rojek Marketing Group, a consulting firm in Cleveland, Ohio. Her most important role, however, is that of wife to her husband, Jeff, and mother to her two children, Matthew and Haley.