Most of my lifetime, Memorial Day has been a ‘three-day weekend’ away from the mundane. By the time I was 10 years-old, the Uniform Monday Holiday Act was in full force.
As a child, it was the fireworks celebrations over the lakes; observing a moment of silence for those who had served, with my father and Uncle Bill. (FWIW – I am thrilled that fireworks are no longer easily available to teenage boys!)
As a younger adult, I tended to have accidents on the three-day holiday known as Memorial Day. At one point, I thought it was going to be named for me! Two years in a row, I was in traffic accidents I thought were going to do me in! So I stopped venturing out on the long holidays and began staying home. The tragedy of that line of thinking? All of the accidents were within 4 miles of my home, at the time.
Both of those accidents changed the trajectory of my life.
Memorial Day weekend is full of memories for me…from random to significant, the last full weekend in May has always meant something to me.
As a younger child,I spent every three-day weekend in a camper, towing a boat, and fishing. I have many fond memories of spending time with my family trolling the likes of Blue Mesa when there was a three-day weekend. These were the ‘bonding moments’ and we didn’t truly appreciate them.
My father used to call us ‘spoiled-brats’ and I now understand.
We were complaining about spending our holiday weekend on the lake, with the family, and not a care in the world. We didn’t have to work to make ends meet. We had no idea how great life was, we complained about spending too much time in a boat. Granted, it wasn’t a boat like what they have here, but we were in the middle of a dry state where what we called “lakes” barely pass as potholes here.
We were blessed because our parents gave us a childhood. Bless them for that.
My first Memorial Day Weekends Past are all about camping, family and friends.
My father is a veteran and gave more for this country than most. Many of my ramblings are about my father’s military experience. Every one of these weekend adventures would include story time where my father and Uncle Bill would regale us with tales that surely they had been told or made up. At the end of ‘story time’ we would observe a moment of silence for those who had sacrificed so much for our freedom. Never did I completely understand.