inspirational short story

Veterans day parade

 Christopher Len

 

When I was seven my father decided to take me to the Veteran’s parade he was taking part in. He then told me that I would be joining him in the parade. That involved waking up before 4:00 to get dressed and ready for the parade. The first Veterans Day parade I participated in started early that morning. My father came into my room at three thirty and woke me. “Son, time to get up. Get dressed, we need to eat and leave.” As I was still tired, the most I could muster was: “but dad its only 3:30.” All he said to that was “we need to be at Mike’s place by 6:00.” That was that and I had no choice but to get up and get dressed. It seemed to be as if I was dressing in some very strange suit. It was only a shirt, a jacket, some pants, a belt, blousing bands, boots, socks, and a hat, but even so it seemed that the uniform alone would weigh several tons. Breakfast consisted of lots of toast with jam some milk and some oatmeal. The strange thing was I did not feel like eating, as it was only 4:00.

After some thumping straining grunting groaning and pushing my father managed to get the rest of the stuff we would need for the parade into his car. After reminding my mother that I would be perfectly safe riding in the duce and a half, also known as a two and a half ton truck we embarked for the parade, and possible embarrassment before thousands of onlookers. We arrived at Mike’s house a little early and so we had to help him load everything into the duce and a half. They loaded several different odd-looking packages into the truck before boosting me into the back end. What I found there hinted at the cleaning skills of “uncle mike.” The back of the truck was filled with junk of all sorts from things that we would be needing during and for the parade, and things that would normally be found in a tool shed. So that is how we set off on our little adventure, with junk sliding around in the back of a truck. Upon arrival at our destination I just sat and waited while everyone else in the parade ran around taking pictures, or asking if they could ride in this or who was driving that. So that is how the time went until 8:00, the time when the parade started. As my father climbed into the back end of the truck all he told me to do was to smile and wave at the people, easy as pie. That’s all there was to it and the thing was nobody knew who the heck I was. It was a simple routine just smile and wave at people, all the old men, smiled back and waved while the kids waved flags and clapped their hands. We just smiled and waved while the people gave the same reactions clapping and flag waving. That’s how it went until the end of the parade, when we pulled into a park. That’s how we ended the parade, milling around in a park while people checked out the military vehicles and asked us questions.

The thing about the day was I really liked it. The best part about it was that the people actually thought of me as cool and not some idiot with ego problems. I guess I liked it so much that I did it every year after that. For seven years. The best thing is after you do it for seven years the event suddenly becomes routine, and is nice and easy. That was at least the way I thought it would be until my father started adding the webbing and the gear needed to fully feel the experience. That’s when things started to get a little different. The gear he told me was to “signify that you are not a kid anymore and that you can handle carrying a bayonet around with you.” That at the time sounded good, but sounding is better than being. Ever tried sitting on nice wooded bench that’s harder than a church pew, while wearing a bayonet? The feeling is very painful, especially when seated. The bayonet will dig into the very sensitive and yet painful areas of your back causing due pain. But the pain is worth it because I get ht admiration of all the people I see. Best of all they have no idea who I am so a normal life is easy. Of course there are downsides to. My father also made me pull guard duty consisting of guarding the duce and a half, and allowing no one inside. Times have changed since Blackwater, and all the terrorism problems now no one is allowed to enter the vehicles without the permission of the owner. Even so the people still ask me the same old questions of what kind of gun is that mounted on the truck or how much the truck weighs? One kid asked me if It was easy killing anyone, of course I had to spin him a tall tale cause hey, that’s my style. Why do I do it all? To do my thing in a Veteran’s parade, and represent the USMC (United States Marine Corps) worth it? I think so?