My first true Memorial Day celebration

As noted in an earlier post, my mom is in town this weekend. She is a veteran DC visitor so we try to mix in a new adventure with her favorites when she comes. So, today we were walking from the Smithsonian metro stop down to the Tidal Basin to go paddleboating (very fun, by the way--thanks to Lisa for the idea) when thousands of motorcycles were making their way down Independence Avenue. I had heard about this annual tradition of veterans on motorcycles converging on DC (I think they may actually end up at the Pentagon?? Can anyone correct me on that?), but I'm usually pretty numb to veterans things as I tend to stuff all of that down and not think about the unpleasantness that is war. But, as we were minding our business, walking down Independence Ave., with hundreds of flag-clad motorcycles roaring by, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I tried my hardest to choke back this involuntary swell of emotion, but it kept resurfacing so eventually I just stopped our conversation until I was sure I wasn't going to "lose it". I felt the sort of confusion I most readily associate with adolescence... that I know I'm feeling this emotion and it is physically expressing itself, but I have no idea why. As we turned the corner down 15th street, I realized that I knew full well why tears were brimming. Right before my eyes were hundreds of real-life veterans, men and women who experienced the sights, sounds and atrocities that I usually replace with faceless uniforms in order to feel a little better about those very things. But, as I walked down 15th street, I knew that it was personal. Each person on a bike today had a personal story to tell and as an American citizen, I automatically have a personal link to those faces. Once the lump in my throat subsided, I turned to my mother and said, "That was oddly moving." Yes, oddly moving indeed. Or, perhaps, not odd. Just unexpected.