Today I came across a photo which reminded me of a piece written some years ago.  I thought I would publish it again.  This image, of a different soldier, speaks more eloquently than words, and we are grateful to the family for allowing us to use it.

I stood by the railing, upstairs at the train station, looking out over Main Street, U.S.A., and hoping to catch sight of a family I had never met.  Having left my friends behind enjoying the last of our tea at the Grand Floridian, jumping on the monorail and rushing into the Magic Kingdom, I would be very disappointed if I didn’t find them.  But no, there they were:  mother, father, and handsome little son, waiting near the flag.  I had been corresponding with Rita via email and, when we realized we’d all be staying at the Boardwalk during the same week, we had made tentative plans to meet.  Both she and her husband, Chuck, are in the Navy, and when I learned that Chuck would be participating in the Flag Retreat at the Magic Kingdom, I knew it was something I wanted to make an effort to attend.  I was aware that this ceremony was performed each afternoon but had never been there at the right time to see it.

After I’d introduced myself to the family, three cast members met with Chuck and walked him through the program: brisk step this way, stop here, sharp turn there, move to this side, hold your arms just so; once through and he was set to go.  I remember thinking that military training must come in mighty handy here. It would have taken me a dozen rehearsals, at the very least, to get it right.

Suddenly, there was music and I turned to see the Main Street Philharmonic launching into a medley of patriotic tunes.  I have several European friends who often comment on the large number of different songs we have which celebrate our country.  I think about all those songs that we learned as children, every year, when I listen to them played on the Fourth of July by the Boston Pops, but I didn’t realize that the U.S. is somewhat unique in this respect.  And, hearing them again this day, played by a group of musicians dressed in brilliant red, who managed, despite the heat and the hour, to perform them with skill and enthusiasm, filled me with pride.

We watched as the four stepped through the ceremony, lowering the flag and skillfully folding it in the special way reserved for our flag alone:

“The Flag is then carefully folded into the shape of a tri-cornered hat, emblematic of the hats worn by colonial soldiers during the war for Independence. In the folding, the red and white stripes are finally wrapped into the blue, as the light of day vanishes into the darkness of night.”

and with a formal announcement to the crowd, is presented to the one being honored that day.

Even though I was only connected to these people by the most tenuous of threads, I was surprised at how affecting it was.  We were all honored by this observance; the serviceman and his family, the company which has chosen to include this solemn tribute amongst its many, more lighthearted activities, and each American who stood there watching.  I don’t know if that little boy will remember listening as his father’s name and rate were called out, echoing across the colorful, sunny park; I hope he does.  I hope, too, that next year, he will watch his mother’s service acknowledged in the same manner.   And, I hope that more people will plan to be near the flag at 5:00 p.m., to share in this moving and respectful ritual. I promise you’ll walk away with an extra little spring in your step.