Memorial Day Robert Sheridan FawCawnahs firstname.lastname@example.org
On my bike ride today, Memorial Day, along San Francisco Bay, I arrived at Fort Point, under the Golden Gate Bridge as a small group, six or seven, of what can only be described as elderly men wearing suit coats and VFW campaign caps gathered with two wreaths for a little remembrance ceremony.
The joggers, tourists, walkers, and cyclists drew near as the men gathered next to the chain separating the land from the sea. One of the old men invited Commander So-and-so to say a few words. He invoked the names of each of the armed services and the memory of those who lost their lives in service to the United States of America. Then he invited Chaplain So-and-so to say a prayer, which he did, also invoking the names of each of the services, Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, Marines, and Merchant Marine, in remembrance of those who served and died.
If you wondered what they fought for, all you had to do was look around you.
The wreaths, one circular, mounted on a floating ring, the other in the shape of an anchor, were tossed into the wind, and landed in the water under the bridge near the rocks.
The men didn't look over the side. They thanked the several of us who took the few minutes to gather 'round and witness the ceremony. We didn't say thank you back. We just watched, and wandered away, silently.
I looked over the side, into the sea.
The flowers were separating from the floating ring and the floating anchor. They floated away on the wind and the tide. I remembered seeing all the names that we passed each day on the Scroll of Honor in the main hall at the top of the stairs at PS 29. Young men killed in WWII who were from Four Corners and Sunnyside and around there who had gone to PS 29 not too long before.
I peddled back.
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