Friday, November 11, 2011
On Veterans Day, every single element of the Soldiers Home coalesces into one singular purpose: honor. And today I was especially humbled—and grateful—to be even a tiny part of it.
I’ve had one of the roughest weeks I can remember, but nothing puts things in perspective better than a ceremony at the Soldiers Home. For one thing, it’s hard to wallow when you’re surrounded by true heroes whose lives define sacrifice and service. For another, it’s an amazing privilege to walk into that packed hall, hug these heroes I call my friends and take my place behind the refreshment table as if I belong there.
Doreen the volunteer was already there, of course, and after I smiled at her, I looked at the traditional red-white-and-blue sheet cakes. And then I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scream—both cakes read, “Veterns Day 2011.” Seriously, Safeway? You spelled “veterans” wrong on Veterans Day—on cakes for the Soldiers Home? We decided to cut the cakes into illegible little squares right away.
I thought I saw Ray McDade’s wheelchair in the crowd, and when I went over to investigate, I realized that not only was it Ray—but he was sitting next to Bill Crowell, and right nearby were Billy, Faith and Ken Levick.
Once the program began—exactly on time, naturally—things moved along in familiar fashion. Boy Scouts shuttled residents into Chilson Hall. The Puyallup Valley Community Band—in a return engagement—filled the huge room with patriotic music. The Home’s chaplain read a particularly moving invocation. And then, for some reason, the Color Guard (Rogers High School JROTC) got me. One of my favorite parts about these ceremonies is how young and old come together, and today when those kids marched down the aisle with the flag, and veterans saluted as they passed, I was moved to tears.
The speakers did a fine job, and once they finished I steeled myself for the traditional Armed Forces medley, when veterans stand for their branches’ songs. Even on a good day, this makes me cry. Today was no exception.
We had some extra hands at the refreshment table today: A veteran and his wife volunteered to help simply because we looked as if we could use some. I was stationed next to the man, and as we filled punch cups and lined up cake plates, I thanked him for his help. Then I thanked him for his service.
A lot of residents I knew came through the refreshment line. David Fox said, “Always happy to see you, young lady!” I hooked Roy up with a Scout who brought him coffee. Faith grabbed a couple pieces of angel-food cake and showed me photos of her beautiful grandchildren. I saw Ray ready to leave, and I hugged him goodbye—and thanked him for his service.
This afternoon, aside from those ridiculous cakes, I felt nothing but warmth and gratitude and a sense of shared purpose. This afternoon, this was exactly where I belonged.
On Veterans Day, every single element of the Soldiers Home coalesces into one singular purpose: honor. And today I was especially humbled—and grateful—to be even a tiny part of it.
I’ve had one of the roughest weeks I can remember, but nothing puts things in perspective better than a ceremony at the Soldiers Home. For one thing, it’s hard to wallow when you’re surrounded by true heroes whose lives define sacrifice and service. For another, it’s an amazing privilege to walk into that packed hall, hug these heroes I call my friends and take my place behind the refreshment table as if I belong there.
Doreen the volunteer was already there, of course, and after I smiled at her, I looked at the traditional red-white-and-blue sheet cakes. And then I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scream—both cakes read, “Veterns Day 2011.” Seriously, Safeway? You spelled “veterans” wrong on Veterans Day—on cakes for the Soldiers Home? We decided to cut the cakes into illegible little squares right away.
I thought I saw Ray McDade’s wheelchair in the crowd, and when I went over to investigate, I realized that not only was it Ray—but he was sitting next to Bill Crowell, and right nearby were Billy, Faith and Ken Levick.
Once the program began—exactly on time, naturally—things moved along in familiar fashion. Boy Scouts shuttled residents into Chilson Hall. The Puyallup Valley Community Band—in a return engagement—filled the huge room with patriotic music. The Home’s chaplain read a particularly moving invocation. And then, for some reason, the Color Guard (Rogers High School JROTC) got me. One of my favorite parts about these ceremonies is how young and old come together, and today when those kids marched down the aisle with the flag, and veterans saluted as they passed, I was moved to tears.
The speakers did a fine job, and once they finished I steeled myself for the traditional Armed Forces medley, when veterans stand for their branches’ songs. Even on a good day, this makes me cry. Today was no exception.
We had some extra hands at the refreshment table today: A veteran and his wife volunteered to help simply because we looked as if we could use some. I was stationed next to the man, and as we filled punch cups and lined up cake plates, I thanked him for his help. Then I thanked him for his service.
A lot of residents I knew came through the refreshment line. David Fox said, “Always happy to see you, young lady!” I hooked Roy up with a Scout who brought him coffee. Faith grabbed a couple pieces of angel-food cake and showed me photos of her beautiful grandchildren. I saw Ray ready to leave, and I hugged him goodbye—and thanked him for his service.
This afternoon, aside from those ridiculous cakes, I felt nothing but warmth and gratitude and a sense of shared purpose. This afternoon, this was exactly where I belonged.