Independence Day…

Ah yes, Independence Day and the fourth of July. I know that way back when, it used to mean something. But like most things, time moved on and the significance of the day has faded. I know I’m suppose to be all patriotic like and what not. You know, have a little national pride for those brave people that risk their lives and some that even gave up their lives to bring me freedom. But I just can’t bring myself to really care that much. I mean, for criminity’s sake, that was a long time ago. Hell us and England are the best of friends now. I remember once when Elmer got into a fight with John Miller after school. They whooped up on each other like it was a blood feud. But when the punching was over, they went on down to Main Street Drug and had a soda together. They don’t go around celebrating the day Elmer lost a tooth and John got that black eye. So I’m thinking that it’s time we just change the name to Freedom Day. Freedom to drink beer, blow things up and not go to work. But come to think of it, here in my little part of the world, that’s just called a weekend.

Winter

The north wind freezes fields and rivers

Drifts across roads to seal the town

Skin cracks inside ice covered gloves

Vick’s rubbed onto croupy chests

Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Day

Fireplace surrounded by, family, lovers and friends

Ice skating, snowball fights, sleigh rides

Hot chocolate, red noses and hugs

Quality vs quantity…

senior-3336451_640 (1)The young boy was impatiently running ahead. Lagging behind him, the elderly couple held hands and constantly stopped to take in the sites. They would read the signs and take pictures and discuss what they each were seeing. Growing frustrated, the boy eventually stopped and turned to them and said, “We need to go faster Papa and Gramma or we won’t get to see everything.” The old man turned to his wife and smiled. “He will learn someday that by slowing down, the quality of the places we do see is much more rewarding than how many places we see.”

Let’s name him Jerry…

A whisper into my mother’s ear by my fifteen year old brother Lawrence ‘Dean’ and she proclaimed me Jerry Wayne Brotherton. Old English in origin; a diminutive form of Gerald (The Ruling Spear).

In 1941, 1.3 percent of the population held the prestigious name. But for some reason, with World War II came the nickname for German soldiers…Jerries. Starting a downward slide that nearly drove the name to extinction and it’s never recovered.

I was born 16 years after the name peaked in popularity. Setting the tone for what would become my life’s motto…a day late and a dollar short.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day

The picnic tables that held all the food were covered with red and white. We lazed about on blankets scattered around the cool grass covered yard. We drank ice cold beer, sweet tea and lemonade and devoured the watermelon, ice cream, Momma’s apple pie and fried chicken. Some of younger ones even napped in the cool shade of the trees. We caught up on lost time with family and watched the children play on the same playground equipment I knew as a kid. Across the street, an impromptu ball game started. They were soon joined by strangers from other families celebrating the day. Although in our quiet little part of the world, even strangers are family.

Earlier that day I had watched the parade pass down Main Street. I paid little attention to the elderly soldiers feebly moving along in their ancient uniforms and carrying flags from wars long gone. I was more interested in the kids chasing down the candy being tossed from vehicles whose signs I failed to read.

As the sun fell low on the horizon, and we strolled back to the car, I glance around at the serenity of the day. I realize that at least, I understood the question; even if I didn’t yet know the answer.

Could I be like those old men; willing to lay down my life to preserve this?

As I walked hand in hand with you down the tree lined street, laughter and singing drifting into the clear sky, I looked into your eyes and my heart beat out the answer.