Growing up in a small town in Connecticut, Memorial Day was a very, very big deal. Not only was it a day off from school (which in and of itself was cause for celebration) but this holiday, unlike any other, brought us face-to-face with a living, breathing pack of real-life heroes. What I remember most vividly was how much larger than life each of the marchers seemed to be. They were all giants having served our country and having been fortunate enough to make it back in one piece. This generation of servicemen and women had done so out of a sense of duty and now it was their turn to be honored by those they had so valiantly protected. I clapped loudly and sincerely along with the rest of the crowd and wondered in silence if I would ever be called to fight and if so, would I too return a hero? Between the onset of my teens until my 40th birthday, I've somehow allowed myself to lose touch with the magnitude of this holiday. I would not go out of my way to watch the parade; instead, I would allow my busy schedule to provide an excuse for missing it. I would sate my bad conscience by giving money to the veterans in front of my grocery store, but that wasn't enough and I knew it. This morning began with a bang - of drums and tubas and dozens of other instruments - that was carried over a warm summer breeze from our local high school. The sound captured the heart of my youngest daughter (Sadie Rose, 2) so I scooped her up and quickly walked down the street to see it live. As she squirmed in my arms I found myself more than a little bit choked up. Perhaps it was a combination of respect for how others had and continue to risk their lives to protect me/my family and guilt over having allowed myself to stop actively supporting them in person. Maybe it was seeing that shiny, anachronistic old fire truck (circa 1929) and knowing that this old truck, its old driver and much of the history the two of these American icons had seen would soon be just a memory. Each generation lives through a unique period of time and events whose meaning is rarely fully understood until it is effectively closed. As parents we can honor the past and those who made the present possible doing our utmost to stay current about what's happening in the world and by studying history so that we can pass this hybrid of knowledge on to our offspring. An appreciation for learning and a respect for rituals such as standing at attention on Memorial Day seems to be the least we can do to teach our children well.