Memorial Day.

A day for barbeques, picnics, and family fun. Too often that seems to be the only connection people have to this holiday, oh yeah, and it's the unofficial start of summer. A little bit of history:

Memorial Day was officially proclaimed on 5 May 1868 by General John Logan, national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, in his General Order No. 11, and was first observed on 30 May 1868, when flowers were placed on the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery.

When I lived in DC I would periodically make trips to Arlington National Cemetery to visit my grandfather's gravesite. If you have never been to that cemetery, I strongly recommend it. It's a place of history, a place of remembrance, and a very sobering reminder of the cost of war.

Approximately 12% of the total U.S. population served in World War II. Less than 1% of the total U.S. population has served in these two wars which have lasted twice as long as World War II. I don't say this to encourage everyone to join the military, because I'll admit, I'm ambivalent about my own kids joining the military. I say this to make the point that these wars, despite their length, are not felt as personally as previous conflicts.

I think they need to be felt personally, and I'll admit, that's part of my reason for writing this blog. Almost 5500 young men and women have died since the start of these conflicts. Thousands more have been severely injured. I've, unfortunately, seen my fair share. I've also seen my fair share of young children who have been severely injured or killed. And when I say young children, yes, I'm talking about little Afghani kids who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Realistically, I'm at the age where I could be a father to the young U.S. troops who are injured or killed. These are kids, all of them.

We send them out as soldiers to do the bidding of our government, and I see them come into the hospital as kids. Scared, injured, bleeding kids. Kids peering up from their stretcher and trying to see their friend, calling out his name, wondering if he made it when the IED went off. Kids that are hoping and praying that they aren't the guest of honor at the next Memorial Day. And for every kid, there is a family back home, hoping and praying that they are never handed a folded flag. I cannot express how impressed I am with those kids. Words fail me.

So, I hope, that as you enjoy the unofficial start of summer, that you also take a moment and remember these kids, Americans, Afghanis, all of them.