Anyone out there heard of the Waltons? They’re a folk-rock group from Saskatchewan that enjoyed limited success in the early 1990s. I discovered them when they opened for Barenaked Ladies during the “Gordon” tour, and they pretty much put the ladies to shame. I saw them twice after that before they ultimately fell victim to the unyeilding blades of corporate music’s production cost to album sales ratio. Their debut album, “Lik my Trakter” was brilliant. The second-last song on the album, “A Fine Line” seems strangely relevant for this weekend, specifically yesterday:
Maybe this doesn’t mean a thing
Maybe it’s just a stupid thing to think
about all the awful things in life
while I’m alright here
Nothing bad ever comes here
or grows out of the flat young lands of home
Just never leave and sure you will grow old
We’ll grow old
Maybe I don’t know a thing
Maybe it’s just a stupid thing to think
about all the awful things in life
and I’m alright here
Nothing bad ever comes here
or grows out of the flat young lands of home
Just never leave and sure you will grow
I’ve got my rights to be me
I’ve got no fights to displease my soul
will never know the dis-ease of
standing in a line, a firing line
Standing waiting in a line, wasting my time
Oh, time….
Maybe I should learn some things
Maybe it’s time I learned something about
all of the awful things in life
while I’m alright here
Nothing bad ever comes here
or grows out of the flat young lands of home
Just never leave and sure you will grow old
I’ve got my rights to be me
I’ve got no fights to displease my soul
will never know the dis-ease of
standing in a line, a firing line
Standing waiting in a line, wasting my time
Oh, time, oh time
It’s not to late
It’s not to late to say
I’ve got my rights to be me
I’ve got no fights to displease my soul
will never know the dis-ease of
standing in a line, a firing line
Standing waiting in a line, wasting my time
I have been so protected all my life. I have never gone hungry because my family was unable to purchase food due to supply line shortages or conservation efforts for a major war effort. I have never been forced to wield any weapon in anger, or to attack another human being with the intent of taking their life. I have never heard the sound of air raid sirens warning that people I know would soon be dead and the familiar streets of my neighborhood would soon be an unrecognizable mass of rubble. I have never huddled in a dark room underground with my family close by, hoping and praying that all of us would still be breathing in the morning. I have been so blessed, and so lucky.
I’m not sure what it is about Remembrance Day that moves me so deeply. I have always felt strongly about it, and those feelings were only reinforced when I was in France and saw the reminders of the terrible destruction of war firsthand. Even as a child, I remember being unable to really enjoy Remembrance Day very much because it always felt like a Sunday to me. Instead of playing, I always felt like I should be going to church or praying or something. I remember being bored in the Remembrance Day ceremonies, but still feeling like I needed to pay attention anyway.
As I grew older I began to understand the meaning of this day more clearly. I still at times struggle with the enormity of the sacrifice these men and women made. To go off to the other side of the world with the aching knowledge that there was every possibility that you would never come home is nearly unimaginable to me. The strain and urgency of having to fight for your life in a land you had never seen alongside people you had never met is something that I perhaps will never fully comprehend. I sit on my couch in shock watching “Saving Private Ryan”, and it is absolutely beyond me that people lived the experience that I can barely stand to see on a TV screen. Even more amazing; the ones who survived came home and lived normal lives again. How could you put that all behind you? How could you just shove it aside and go to wife doing something as mundane as selling insurance or delivering the mail, when every time you closed your eyes you remembered watching someone explode into a bloody mist when they stepped on a land mine, or having to pick pieces of your comrades’ bodies off of yourself after they found themselves on the recieving end of a mortar shell? Every time you washed your face, you would remember how long it took to remove the blood from you face after D-Day, when the doors of your landing craft opened and the three rows of men in front of you melted under a withering hail of machine-gun fire. Every time a car backfired, or someone lit a firecracker, you would jump in reaction. Even those who were not killed in Europe still lost their lives.
My wife and I took our children to a Remembrance Day ceremony yesterday. We wanted to go to one of the big gatherings at the Museum of the Regiments, but typically for our family, we couldn’t get out the door on time. We ended up at a park near our home, where a small group of veterans had gathered to place a wreath. The area we live in was once part of a Canadian Forces base, and the development has been built around that theme. The park is called Peacekeepers park, and it features a life-sized broze statue of a peacekeeping soldier with a little girl, surrounded by a granite wall of names of all of the Canadian soldiers killed while performing peacekeeping duties. It was alarming how many names have been added to that wall this year. The group consisted of about a dozen elderly men and women, with most of the men wearing their dress uniforms. At first we didn’t want to intrude, but we didn’t have time to make it to another ceremony and I wanted my children to take part in something to show their respect. There was a brief service, then a wreath was laid at the base of the wall, and we observed our two minutes of silence. It was humbling for me to stand there with my privileged children in the company of these men who have given so much for our country and all that we enjoy here. My children seemed to recognize the gravity of the moment as well; I think it is the only time I can remember that all three of them have gone a full two minutes without opening their mouths.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, one of the veterans approached us to thank us for attending, and we countered that it was us who owed the thanks to him and his comrades. Our boys both said thank you to him as well, and he stayed to talk to us for a few minutes. The Bear noticed his medals, and asked him what they were. His eyes clouded over as he said “oh, these are from when I had to go and do a few things….” and his voice trailed off. The things that man must have seen. The things that man must have had to do. I am eternally grateful that because of the sacrifices these brave souls made, my children have never known those horrors. Because they were willing to pay the price for freedom, we live a charmed life today. We truly owe them a debt we can never repay.
Lest we forget.
