Remembrance Day

This post is a day late. I wasn't sure how to approach it until I was leaving a comment on Victoria's Veteran's Day Post. I thought about posting Flander's Fields, as my daughter has been asking me to recite it daily all week, but you all know the words - or you should. If you don't, let me know. I can post it.

There was an old man selling poppies outside of the grocery store. Not pushy, not even asking anyone to purchase. Just standing proud and erect outside in the cold. Smiling. Whistling and singing old songs. A few words to anyone who stopped, helping them pin on their poppy. The princess wanted a 'flower'. We put the groceries in the car, pushed the cart away, and walked back to the entrance. I gave the Princess a toonie and lifted her up so that she could put the coin in the old man's box. He smiled and gave her a poppy. Took a second one and pinned it to Badness's vest. "I think this young man should wear one too."

How do you explain to a 4-year old the meaning of Remembrance Day? The significance of that poppy? We talked about freedom, about everyone being the same on the inside, no matter the colour of their skin. We talked about everyone deserving the same chances, the chance to hope and dream and work and have a family. About people who tried to take those chances away from others. About the men who went to fight and the boys who died.

I have one photo of the Princess with her great-grandfather. (It predates my digital camera, and I don't have a scanner so I can't post it.) They were born 100 years apart. He was Hub's grand-dad. He was born in Hungary. He was Jewish. When he was about the same age as Hubs is now, with a wife and little children, he was taken from his home and put in a work camp. He never spoke about it. His wife once cut meat off a dead horse to feed her babies. She bribed guards to rescue her mother from the Jewish ghetto. She baptized her babies Catholic to give them a better chance to survive. And she never spoke about it. I can't imagine the horrors that they survived. I don't want the Princess to have to imagine them, but I do want her to grow up thankful that people fought so that she could live a better life.

I took the Princess to the hospital to say good-bye to her great-grandfather before he died. She was younger than Badness is now. She was born in the days following SARS and as I carried her to his room strangers hissed at me that I shouldn't have the baby in the hospital. But when we reached his room Grand-dad looked at her, reached out his hand and smiled. He struggled with dry lips that hadn't tried to speak in days to say her name. He loved her. He was glad she'd come. That was the last time he spoke. A child has the power to heal.

Our children and their precious childhood are our gift from those we remember. It is hard to talk about those horrors, to explain what this day is about. It was a long time ago. But it is important that they understand, and never take what we have for granted.

Thank-you. I won't forget.