I remember the old man at the Veterans Day parade, passing out those little red tissue paper poppies. It would have been sometime in the 1980s in Jasper, Alabama, and it was my dad who wanted the family to go to the parade.

Was it on a Wednesday, as it is this year? I don’t remember.

But I remember that the old man said that he was a World War I veteran. 

I remember his wrinkled face, his broad smile, and his gnarled hands as he gave me that delicate offering that has remained etched in my memory. Everything else fell away in that moment, though I was aware of the passing floats and vehicles and the people on the sidewalk next to me. 

He is so old, I thought, yet my grandfathers are not so old. I knew that they were both veterans of World War II. My father’s father had served in the Army, while my mother’s father was in the Navy. My father, still a young man, had enlisted in the Air Force and served two tours in Vietnam.

He wanted my sister and me to know places like Saigon, Khe Sanh, Cam Ranh Bay, and Tan Son Nhut.

He watched movies like Apocalypse Now and Platoon, though he did not let us stay in the living room while he viewed them.

But he watched, and he remembered.

I went to a Veterans Day program at my high school alma mater this week, and now the old men are all Vietnam veterans like my father. Even the Korean vets from around home are gone. And our “Greatest Generation?” Statistically, there are only 30,607 American World War 2 veterans still living, around .2% of a total of 16.4 million who served.

I wore a dark navy blouse with red flowers—poppies, I imagined them to be, though I don’t believe that poppies are traditionally associated with Veterans Day in the United States as they are with Remembrance Day in the United Kingdom and Commonwealth countries. Yet we all, on November 11th, recognize what was once called Armistice Day, for on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, the shelling was to cease.

But it did not stop, not really, for there have been wars and continue to be rumors of wars, and there are those who will go and fight the battles on our behalf.

And we will celebrate Veterans Day by putting up the Christmas tree or getting a head start on the Christmas shopping, the same as we do with Memorial Day, when we break out the grill and head to the lake, when we should really be taking our cheeseburgers and hot dogs to the cemetery.

Look it up. I don’t feel like explaining it all. But we’re Americans, and we should know the difference. If we can do deep dives into election results, we can look at the reasons we celebrate Veterans Day and Memorial Day, rather than thinking they’re just some spinoff from the Fourth of July, that they’re both just another reason to take a day off.

What should we do instead? And not just on Veterans Day, or Memorial Day, or the Fourth of July. Let’s make these things a habit.

Thank a veteran. Anytime you see a lady or gentleman out and about wearing a military service cap, acknowledge them, and thank them for their service.

Even better, go spend quality time with our veterans. If they’re family members, stop by and give them a hug and a pat on the back. No doubt, you were on their mind while they were serving, even though some of you weren’t even living yet. Had they not made it home, you wouldn’t be here. Don’t think for a second they don’t think about that. You should think about it too.

Go learn something new. Watch a documentary, or read an article or a book about some of our heroes. 

And they will say, no, they’re not the heroes. The heroes are the ones who didn’t make it home. 

In many towns, we now hang banners during the aforementioned holidays to honor our veterans. Why not do a little research on one of these brave men and women? Lots of military records are public, and there’s a whole host of information available online. Even better, go interview a veteran. Had I been a history teacher, that would have been an assignment for the 11th grade, when the focus is to be on modern American history. How many high school kids prefer reading a textbook to talking to some old-timer and hearing about what it was like to have four-foot long lizards slithering through the hootches at midnight, their scaly bellies scratching against the hard floors?

What would our young people remember the most, if given the chance to experience a “living” history assignment?

My dad’s got those stories to tell, and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to share them with this generation, who probably sees him the same way I remember that old-timer who gave me a tissue paper poppy. 

I imagine there’s a banner hanging right now in Jasper with a photograph of that old gentleman, but he would be in uniform, his youthful face smooth and unlined. 

And though there is no way that he could ever know it, there’s a grown woman who remembers him and still wears flowers on his behalf.

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“In Flanders’ Fields” by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.