Freedom

I'm surrounded by the laughter of children. A breeze flutters across my face, bringing with it the scent of theater-style popcorn and cotton candy. I move out of the warm sun into the shade of a big tree, noticing a father holding his sons hand as they walk by, the child excitedly talking. A mother leans down to give a bite of a snowcone to her daughter. Next to me, two older men are chatting about politics and the need for rain. I stroll over to a drink stand and wait for a soda. A man arrives at the same moment as me, but the workers are adding ice to the cooler, so we wait patiently. When the job is finished the workers look at the two of us.

"Who's next?" they asked. I point to him and look to see him pointing at me. We both laugh softly and I place my order.

Behind the drink stand is a round gazebo with built-in benches for sitting. I invite my guests to join me in the gazebo and, as we enter, a man is talking with his young granddaughter. When it seems that our addition to the gazebo may create a space problem, he stands, picks up the child, and says, "We've been in here long enough. Enjoy!" and exits the shaded area.

As we sit with our popcorn, snowcones and soda, my youngest runs up to me.

"Mommy!" he yells, excitedly. "I'm having a wonderful time. I already went down ALL the waterslides and I saw lots of my friends."

I hug him and smile. His brother and sister must be having a wonderful time, too, because I've yet to see them.

After resting for a few minutes, we decide to check on my guests' son. We wander down the yard towards the waterslides. To my left, I see several babies and small toddlers playing in a low sprinkler and tumbling down the slide of a baby pool while watchful parents stand poised to help. In amongst the small crowd is my dear friend and her beautiful baby. He's laughing and splashing in a pool. She's bent down towards him, tenderly caressing his head, smiling into his cherubic face. Then I notice the music, soft and distant - the strains of patriotic songs are coming from somewhere.

The breeze stirs again and we spot our sons together in line at a waterslide. My friend pulls out her camera and excuses herself to walk closer, hoping to capture the look on her son's face as he bounces off the top of the slide. I look around for Deanna and catch a glimpse of her in the distance, sucking on a ring pop she must have won in one of the games. Here, by the slides, I can hear parents calling to their children and laughing as they watch the antics. Children's laughter is decidedly louder and the sounds of merriment are more intense. An older couple are deep in conversation on a bench in the shade of a large pecan tree. People all around me are greeting each other and "Happy 4th" can be heard from every direction.

Thankfulness wells up in my heart. Today did not come without work and sacrifice. It's not something that occurs by accident. Even the freedom to celebrate this way is something unique. As I listen to the laughter around me, I think of the many lives that have been lost for this day to happen, the men and women who gave EVERYTHING for our freedom, not even completely understanding what that might mean to future generations.

And I think of the lives lost so that other lands might enjoy this freedom, many without success. My father spent two years of his life in Vietnam, fighting for that country's freedom. They are not celebrating today. And celebrations like this are something most Vietnamese have probably NEVER seen.

I think about the conversation with my sister two weeks ago as she recounted to me the scene at the Moving Wall, a 3/4 scale model of the Vietnam Veteran's War Memorial in D.C. The Wall came to our town and my father was asked to sit on the stage and participate in the dedication. It brought back memories of the time years ago I took him to see the Wall. There are no dates on the black granite - just name upon name upon name, completely overwhelming in the magnitude. We asked a worker to help us find the years Daddy was there. She directed us to a section of the granite. Papa stood, reading name after name.

"He was one of my men." "Oh, yes, there's so-and-so." "I had forgotten about young blank." "So many. . . so many . . ." until he finally turned, pressed his back against the wall, and slid to the ground. I found a place on the grass next to him and he began to share, story after story of men assigned to his unit who died. As he'd tell a story, his eyes would fill with tears and his voice would falter. He'd pause for a moment, collect himself, then finish the story of some young American's gruesome death.

"They all died," he said, distractedly. I turned and glanced at the tower of names, extending almost limitlessly to the right and left.

"Yes, Papa, they all died." I felt my throat tightening, feeling a little guilty at the incredible blessing of the life of my father and understanding how many of his men didn't return. I don't know why God chose to preserve him and so few others. But I'm thankful.

My father fought for today. He lived to be thankful for his freedom. Many others didn't. In the distance, I think I hear the sound of taps playing on a lone trumpet.

Later, as the evening ends with a stirring tribute to the Flag and a roaring rendition of "God Bless the U.S.A.", I find myself involuntarily standing when the words, "And I'd gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today . . ." are sung.

She is worth defending. The many who have died are worthy of our honor. And even unpopular wars deserve the respect of those of us who celebrate our freedom.

God bless the U.S.A. and thank you, Lord, for our freedom, so selflessly fought for, so valiantly won.