Memorial to Memorial Weekend

Believe it or nut, kidz, when I was 10 years old, Memorial Weekend was not such a strange holiday. Other than outright apocalypse, war was supposed to be in the past for America — nobody would dare to challenge us, except with nukes. So it was more natural to talk with uncle about doubleya-doubleya too and even older cousin about Korea while you sat around the fat sirloins sputtering smoking on the grill. (Yeah, the stories did tend toward the “McHale’s Navy” type of yuk-yuks.) Dad would inevitably get out some books and pictures of the Miles Family’s more notable military ancestors. I knew too little to have any ambivalence about it all.

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