A fine day on which I did nothing at all Memorial Day and my love and I walked out in the park to observe the young and restless, the old and rickety, soaking up the sunshine. The laziest day of the year, meant to remember the insane fury of war. Contented families, families making an effort to ignore each other, kids teetering along on bikes or skateboards, dozens of runners each with his or her signature stride (lope, lunge, trot, traipse, scoot, sprint, stagger), picnickers lounging in the shade and dogs sniffing other dogs and toddlers acquainting themselves with the wonders of grass. No soldiers in sight. I wore a tan linen suit and black T-shirt, Madame wore a blue sleeveless dress. We passed a table where a man sat at a typewriter, next to a sign that said “Free Poetry.” A man sat opposite him, a little boy on his lap, waiting for their poem to be written. I thought of the American war dead but only briefly when a helicopter passed overhead, which made me think of Vietnam, the war I evaded. We honor the dead of that war, but with remorse, same as the Confederate dead, the farm boys who fought for the plantation owners. I didn’t care to go to Vietnam; I preferred to forget about loyalty, reverence, bravery, obedience and the rest of the Boy Scout Law and devote myself to dreaminess and books and long conversations with interesting women. So shoot me. Read the rest of the column >>> | 
