Jacob Miller
19 November 2012
Ms. Harmon
English 10
A veteran in memory
It was starting to rain. A funeral was never a thing you wanted to visit. It was the ultimate time of mourning. The most painful thing, was knowing that they were not coming back. My great-grandfather was not going to come back. Being a veteran of World War 3, gave him a soldiers burial. Even if it was one of the most honorable burials possible, a burial, is still a burial. The 3 shot salute was like a backwards step into time. The first shot was like the farthest rip in time that was possible to remember.
My great-grandfather was in his living room, which was made up of old leather furniture. Liking the old things he had dozens of dusty knick-knacks on the shelves. The knick-knacks included some toys, but they were mostly made up of random objects. My great-grandmother didn’t care for knick-knacks; they didn’t really appeal to her. They gave off a feeling of an easier and simpler time. My great-grandfather, or pop as we called him, was a very old man with scars and wrinkled skin. He was an excellent cook as well; unfortunately no one will be able to taste his cooking again.
The first shot was still ringing in my ears, but I didn’t care. I was still at the funeral. No one could be any sadder than they already were. Depression was sure to come for some. The second round of shots were about to be fired. Pop was a veteran. I started to recall his stories, just as the second round of shots was fired.
My seven year-old mind didn’t have much of a grasp on the reality of things. I didn’t know what Pop was talking about in his stories. All I knew, was that I liked them. His voice is still known to me: “The army taught me courage, honor, and above all discipline” I didn’t have much of a vocabulary, so I could simply reply with: “When I grow up, I want to go to the army just like you!” He would simply smile at me and I would smile back, but all I really did was sit there, and admire him in my own way.
Those were the good times. All was said about the old man. I’m sure there was a lot more to his life story, but I didn’t know him long enough to know that much about him. I was now 13. My mind did have a grasp on reality. Reality dictated that Pop could not come back. As the third shot was about to be fired, I was starting to recall another memory of mine that I had with my great-grandfather. But then I came to realize, that some stories are better left untold. The veteran was lost to the world. However, everyone had some kind of good memory with him. He was a veteran in memory. I’m sure everyone else at the funeral was thinking about all the good memories they had with the old man. Well I suppose that it doesn’t matter, I could always ask his wife about him. Pop did give us all times to remember.
