Memorial Day Entitlement: A Lesson Learned

No humor on this one…


Growing up, Memorial Day was always just another holiday for me. It meant a long weekend, BBQs, and hanging out with friends. The significance of the day never really hit me. I was a typical teenager, self-absorbed and entitled, thinking the world revolved around my wants and needs.

That year, everything changed.

My family always visited my grandfather’s grave on Memorial Day. He was a Vietnam War veteran, but I never understood why it mattered. That year, I decided I had better things to do. A big party was happening at my friend Jake’s house, and I didn’t want to miss it. I remember rolling my eyes when my mom told me we were going to the cemetery first.

“Do I have to go? Can’t I just meet you there?” I whined.

My mom’s expression hardened. “Yes, you have to go. It’s important.”

Reluctantly, I dragged myself to the cemetery, sulking the entire way. When we arrived, the place was packed with families, all paying their respects. My annoyance grew. I just wanted to get this over with.

As we approached my grandfather’s grave, my dad started sharing stories about him. I tuned out, texting my friends about how lame this was. My dad noticed and snapped, “Put the phone away. Show some respect.”

I rolled my eyes but complied. As I stood there, bored and irritated, an older man approached us. He was a friend of my grandfather’s from the war, and my dad introduced him as Mr. Thompson.

“I served with your granddad,” he said, looking at me. “He saved my life.”

His words caught my attention. I glanced up from my phone, curious despite myself.

Mr. Thompson continued, “We were in a bad spot, pinned down by enemy fire. Your granddad risked his life to get us out. He was a hero.”

I stared at him, shocked. I had always known my grandfather was in the military, but hearing it like this made it real. I felt a pang of guilt for my earlier attitude.

“Why don’t you kids understand the sacrifices made for your freedom?” Mr. Thompson’s eyes bore into mine, and I felt a deep shame.

For the first time, I looked around the cemetery with new eyes. Each grave represented someone who had given their life for our country. They weren’t just names on stones; they were heroes.

The rest of the day, I couldn’t shake the feeling. At the BBQ later, I was quieter, more reflective. My friends noticed.

“What’s up with you?” Jake asked.

I shrugged, unsure how to explain it. “Just thinking about my granddad. He was a war hero.”

Jake looked surprised. “Wow, that’s intense.”

That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Thompson’s words. I realized how entitled and disrespectful I had been. I had taken my freedom for granted, not understanding the true cost.

The next Memorial Day, I volunteered to help clean the local veterans’ cemetery. My friends thought I was crazy, but I didn’t care. I wanted to honor those who had given everything for us. I learned the importance of gratitude and respect, and it changed my perspective forever.

Memorial Day became more than just a holiday. It became a day to remember and honor the sacrifices made for our freedom. And it taught me a valuable lesson: entitlement has no place in the face of true sacrifice.

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