Remember Someone Forgotten for Memorial Day

Up the street from us there is an old, run down house.  Peeling paint, cracked sidewalk, and a rusted out car on the law complete the forlorn look of the place.  A tattered black POW/MIA flag flutters from a makeshift flag pole and a pot of faded plastic flowers hangs year 'round from a branch in the yard's only tree.  In the summer dandelions and tall grasses grow knee high and in the winter snow piles high around the house, smooth and fluffy except for a few footprints between the house and driveway.

The first time I saw the house, a little shiver went down my spine.  It looked so forgotten and unhappy.  At night it looked downright creepy.  Through an open window I could see the single bulb of a shadeless lamp spreading a feeble light around a room piled high with boxes, stacks of papers, and seemingly useless debris.  I wondered what kind of a person could live in such a house.


We soon found out.  My first impression of Mr. Van (not his real name) was that he seemed as forlorn and unkempt as his house.  But over time he simply became our neighbor - part of the quirkiness that makes up a neighborhood.  I even grew to appreciate the silly jokes he would tell us as we walked past his house toward the park, but I often picked up my pace a bit, hoping to avoid the rambling conversations that could go on for the better part of an hour.  Over time we learned that he was a Vietnam Vet who lives alone and has very strong opinions about pretty much everything.  Beyond that, however, I took very little time to get to know our lonely neighbor.

Then last November, Veteran's Day rolled around.  As I searched about desperately at the last minute for some way to teach the children an appreciation for those who serve our country in the armed forces, Mr. Van came to mind.  He seemed like a convenient way to pull off an easy "service project".  We pulled out the eggs, flour, and sugar; mashed some bananas, and threw together a hasty loaf of banana bread.  Just before we headed out the door to teach my children a lesson on thankfulness and patriotism, I grabbed a little 3x5 card and wrote, in red, white, and blue marker, "Thank you for your service to our country.  May God bless you and may God bless the USA". And I signed our names to it. 

Fast forward six months:  The winter seemed to be letting go a little bit, and the kids and I were venturing out to the park.  Because I tend to hole up in the house as much as possible during the Minnesota winters, I had not seen Mr. Van for many months and had completely forgotten about the Veteran's Day gift.  As we passed his house that day, I heard a door slam and someone calling, "Excuse me!  Excuse me!  You're Mrs. Jerome, right?" 

Mr. Van, a cane in one hand and a 3X5 card in the other, came hurrying down the walk, waving the card enthusiastically.  "I just wanted to say thank you," he said, and handed me the 3X5 card.  It was the same one I had hastily written six months earlier.  It was bent, smudged, and water spotted.  "I take that card down to the VFW and the Veteran's hospital every time I go down there.  Nobody's ever done this for us before - written us a thank you.  No one thanks us.  Those guys down there say I'm so lucky.  They've never had anything like this before.  I take this in there - some of them can't see, or walk.  They can't think too clearly sometimes.  But I tell them, I tell them somebody does remember us.  Someone is thankful.  This card has been all over the Veteran's hospital downtown.  You'll never  know how happy those boys are to see a card like this.  I've got a frame inside and I'm going to hang this on my wall someday."

The more Mr. Van talked, the worse I felt.  That little card wasn't even really about him.  I hadn't even thought about how it might affect him.  It really was a purely selfish act.  I just needed a service project for my kids and he seemed to be an easy fit.  "Here you go, Mister.  A little something for you so I can go home and pat myself on the back, feeling pretty smug about being able to write 'service project' in the social studies column of my homeschool lesson plans."  Of course, I didn't really say that to him, but that would have been the honest thing.  I felt like a lout standing there smiling, nodding, and saying appropriate sounding things like, "I'm glad you liked it," and, "Thanks for passing our gratitude on to the guys down at the VFW".

"I have a little something for you," Mr. Van said toward the end of the conversation. "It's right over here".  He hobbled over to the one beautiful thing in his yard - a row of orange-red tulips.  Pulling up a fistful of them, he held the bouquet out to me.  "For you; for the wonderful gift you gave all of us old forgotten warriors".  He pointed up to the POW/MIA  flag, flapping lazily in the wind.  "Say some prayers for those of us who haven't made it home yet". 

Placing the tulips in a vase at home, tears came to my eyes as I asked God to forgive me for not caring.  For walking past all the un-beautiful people of the world and not realizing how little it takes to touch a life.  For gossiping about the hurting rather than using that time to do a little something to brighten their day.  For forgetting the forgotten.

Today we pulled out the eggs,  flour, and sugar.  We mashed some bananas and while the banana bread baked, the kids and some of their friends created lovely, childish art to paste onto little, folded-paper cards. I typed up a little message of heart-felt thanks for the veterans of our community, printed out a stack of them,  and the children pasted them into their colorful creations.  Tonight when I take the bread and cards for Mr. Van to distribute to his friends at the VA hospital it is going to be with a truly grateful heart and genuine appreciation for his service to our country.

This Memorial Day, do a little more than just kick off the summer.  Remember someone forgotten.  As cliche' as it sounds, the truth is that it takes very little to touch a life.  After all, my life truly was changed by a little note on a 3X5 card and a handful of tulips.