A Georgia Girl in Germany

A Marine friend of mine sent this to me last year, and I think it’s a good reminder of why we have Memorial Day. Never forget.

As an old soldier, my hip hurts like hell and I’m ready to get out of here right now! But for this day, my duty was to assist anyone coming in. Kevin would lock the “In” gate, and if I could hurry the old biddy along, we might make it to Smokey’s in time.

I broke post attention. My hip made gritty noises when I took the first step and the pain went up a notch. I must have made a real military sight: middle-aged man with a small pot gut and half a limp, in Marine full-dress uniform, which had lost its razor crease about thirty minutes after I began the watch at the cemetery.

I stopped in front of her, halfway up the walk. She looked up at me with an old woman’s squint.

“Ma’am, may I assist you in any way?”

She took long enough to answer.

“Yes, son. Can you carry these flowers? I seem to be moving a tad slow these days.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.” Well, it wasn’t too much of a lie.

She looked again. “Marine, where were you stationed?”

“Vietnam, ma’am. Ground-pounder. ’69 to ’71.”

She looked at me closer. “Wounded in action, I see. Well done, Marine. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

I lied a little bigger: “No hurry, ma’am.”

She smiled and winked at me. “Son, I’m 85 years old, and I can tell a lie from a long way off. Let’s get this done. Might be the last time I can do this. My name’s Joanne Wieserman, and I’ve a few Marines I’d like to see one more time.”

“Yes, ma’am. At your service.”

She headed for the World War I section, stopping at a stone. She picked one of the flowers out of my arm and laid it on top of the stone. She murmured something I couldn’t quite make out. The name on the marble was Donald S. Davidson, USMC, France 1918.

She turned away and made a straight line for the World War II section, stopping at one stone. I saw a tear slowly tracking its way down her cheek. She put a bunch on a stone; the name was Stephen X. Davidson, USMC, 1943.

She went up the row a ways and laid another bunch on a stone, Stanley J. Wieserman, USMC, 1944.

She paused for a second. “Two more, son, and we’ll be done.”

I almost didn’t say anything, but, “Yes, ma’am. Take your time.”

She looked confused. “Where’s the Vietnam section, son? I seem to have lost my way.”

I pointed with my chin. “That way, ma’am.”

“Oh!” she chuckled quietly. “Son, me and old age ain’t too friendly.”

She headed down the walk I’d pointed at. She stopped at a couple of stones before she found the ones she wanted. She placed a bunch on Larry Wieserman, USMC, 1968, and the last on Darrel Wieserman, USMC, 1970. She stood there and murmured a few words I still couldn’t make out.

“OK, son, I’m finished. Get me back to my car and you can go home.”

Yes, ma’am. If I may ask, were those your kinfolk?”

She paused.... “Yes, Donald Davidson was my father, Stephen was my uncle, Stanley was my husband, Larry and Darrel were our sons. All killed in action, all Marines.”

She stopped. Whether she had finished, or couldn’t finish, I don’t know. She made her way to her car, slowly and painfully. I waited for a polite distance to come between us and then double-timed it over to Kevin, waiting by the car.

“Get to the ‘Out’ gate quick. I have something I’ve got to do.”

Kevin started to say something, but saw the look I gave him. He broke the rules to get us there down the service road. We beat her. She hadn’t made it around the rotunda yet.

“Kevin, stand at attention next to the gatepost.... Follow my lead.” I humped it across the drive to the other post.

When the Cadillac came puttering around from the hedges and began the short straight traverse to the gate, I called in my best gunny’s voice: “Tehen Hut! Present Haaaarms!”

I have to hand it to Kevin; he never blinked an eye -- full dress attention and a salute that would make his DI proud. She drove through that gate with two old worn-out soldiers giving her a send-off she deserved, for service rendered to her country, and for knowing duty, honor and sacrifice.

I am not sure, but I think I saw a salute returned from that Cadillac.

I attended a Mother’s Day Tea in Benjamin’s classroom on Friday. I wasn’t expecting it to be a performance so I didn’t take my camera, but I truly enjoyed the show nonetheless. I knew it was going to be a tear-jerker when one of Benjamin’s classmates handed me a tissue as I walked in the room, saying, “Here’s a tissue in case you cry.” Benjamin read a poem with one of his classmates, and they all sang songs and recited “mom-isms” during the performance. Benjamin said they were able to choose their mom-isms by raising their hands when their teacher read them to the class while preparing for the performance. I suspected as much, especially since the two he read aloud were very similar to phrases he hears come from my mouth. His two mom-isms were, “How many times do I have to tell you?” and “I said CLOSE the door, not SLAM it.”

They also made a booklet with thoughts about their mothers. I really like what Benjamin said about me: “She’s nice, helps me, plays with me, reads with me, she doesn’t interrupt me, takes care of me, lets me sleep in her bed, lets us pick one thing out at the commissary. She lets us do what we want to do, she helps me clean up the house. She is awesome, really awesome. She loves me, really loves me. I love her and she loves me really much. She lets us sleep in on weekends and cooks cookies for us.” I really enjoyed his line about who helps who clean the house!

I woke up this morning to kisses from Benjamin and breakfast in bed courtesy of all three kiddos. This seems to be the standard Mother’s Day for me, and I love it! Benjamin seemed surprised that I like scrambled eggs and toast (one slice with butter, the other with jelly), and asked me if I usually eat cereal because it’s quicker (yup!). They even discovered that the tray they use to deliver my breakfast can be used as a dry erase board, so they decorated it and signed their names on it!

Benjamin made me a small photo frame, and MacKenzie made me several clay roses. She also picked out a bouquet of flowers the other day, which we bought and have been enjoying since Friday. Yesterday, she helped a friend plant flowers in her yard, and brought home one plant for me. How sweet! I really am blessed to have three very wonderful kids!

I found this poem that I think captures the essence of Mother’s Day. Happy Mother’s Day!