Yesterday was Remembrance Day here in Canada (Veterans Day for those of you in the US). As usual, we went to the ceremonies in Lantzville, where my husband’s grandfather helped to build the Legion. Each year, members of Walter and Stella Malinski’s family meet there to connect with each other, remember the war and the family, and see how much everyone has grown and changed in the previous year.
It struck me that my generation is unique in that while the US has been at war somewhere on the planet most of my life, I have not personally and directly felt the effects of war. (Yes, you could argue that rising gas prices are an effect of war in the Middle East. That’s not what I mean, though.)
I have not seen my classmates and loved ones muster up, excited to serve their country, never to return. I have not had to deal with blackouts or air raid sirens. I have not had to ration sugar or flour or gasoline, or contribute to the war effort in any way.
Growing up removed from these things makes it hard to imagine what my grandparents and great grandparents lived through. It’s easy to say it’s not important to attend the ceremonies, to remember the wars and the sacrifices they made for us, precisely so we COULD have the privilege of (relatively) peaceful lives.
On the way home, we talked about what I knew of my grandparents service and sacrifice – truthfully, very little. Most who survived the Great Depression and the War to End all Wars didn’t talk about it, and so many of them have passed on now. I never got to talk to either of my grandfathers about their service; both died when I was young. I did talk to both of my grandmothers when I was in high school. I even video taped the conversations, however, the tapes have been lost.
I’m going to keep going to the Remembrance Day ceremonies, and talking about what I remember from their stories. As they say, those who forget history are doomed to repeat it, and I do not want that for my children, or any of my descendants.
Blessings,
Mary