We Few, We Happy Few

As I've mentioned many times before on this blog, I don't believe in God, an afterlife, or any sort of ethereal realm containing spirits and the ascended form of Zombie Jesus. Most of the time, I'm content to simply ignore questions of life-after-death since I'm not confronted with it on a daily basis, but since today is Memorial Day, I figured the topic might be worth a few imaginary beard scratchings.

Memorial Day is a tricky thing. The idea behind it is that we honor the soldiers who have given their lives in service of their country. But what does it even mean to "honor" them? Today I marched with the Firemen's Band in the Memorial Day parade. I love those old Sousa marches, and I always get a thrill out of playing "The Stars and Stripes Forever" (even though the trombone part is out of my range and surprisingly complex). The crowds really seem to love them too. We always get big cheers wherever we play.

But you know who I don't see anywhere along the parade route? Dead soldiers.

For all the talk we have about Memorial Day being for the dead, it's really about people who are still alive. The dead don't care. Even supposing that there is some spirit realm where they're deading it up with Jesus, Budda, and the Flying Spaghetti Monster, I would think that the soldiers would have a lot more interesting things to do with their disembodied selves than to watch a parade down in the asscrack of the Allegheny Valley.

I don't even think Memorial Day is really for Veterans even though they always seem to be very emotionally invested in the festivities. They don't need a day to remember the military. Getting your ass shot at by hoardes of Nazis is probably something you can remember without my ass tooting "Semper Fidelis" on my horn. In fact, I think Memorial Day is ideally directed toward we cowardly folk who never had any desire to serve in the armed forces. Willingly choosing to be shot after enduring basic training at the mercy of a drill instructor whose force of will could probably shatter my spine is no small sacrifice.

I'm a cowardly sort of fellow, and I know I would have crumbled immediately under fire. I imagine myself curling into the fetal position, sobbing loudly, and giving up valuable American secrets to any inquisitive interrogator who threatened to tickle my feet. I also don't think that those aforementioned drill instructors respond well to snarky backtalk or childish giggling in the ranks. Back in days of yore, they'd round up all the peasant folk and force them into battle against whatever nearby fiefdom the king had managed to piss off that week. As a penniless peon who happens to be the size of a small moose, I know I'd be drafted under that system in no time. Thank you soldiers for ensuring that my laissez-faire lifestyle can continue uninterrupted.

I do get annoyed when remembering fallen soldiers is conflated with celebrating America. That's what the Fourth of July is for. Stay in your own damn month, America. Sometimes soldiers do die during noble American missions, but oftentimes, soldiers die because America fucks up. Should we remember the soldiers who liberated concentration camps more fondly than those who got us cheaper gas prices? Not at all. In fact, that's why I respect those in the armed forces. You've signed up to follow the orders of someone you'd never met beforehand, and you may end up dead for a completely worthless cause. People line up in droves to volunteer for military service when they believe in the cause (WWII being a prime example), but how many of us would sign up for ANYTHING we were asked to die for. Theoretically, you could die because some general sent you into battle because his cousin, who happens to command the opposing army, slept with his wife last week (I think that may have been the plot of a Shakespeare play or two).

Sometimes young men and women sign up for the military for stupid reasons. They may not care a whit about protecting anybody. They might be in it for the benefits, to escape a bad home life, or because they need a job. In which case, their deaths should weigh even more heavily on us. There are probably a great many soldiers overseas who hate being there, but even if they would have preferred not to sacrifice, they still do. Some poor guy might have signed up for the Army Reserve, confident that he'd remain stateside, but then he stepped on a landmine on his first trip abroad. Memorial Day is exactly the time to think about the complexities of military service - the pros, cons, and TV shows - that are typically ignored.

Even if a soldier dies for a lousy reason, that has value to we breathing humans. We can think back on it and realize that maybe we don't want to go to war for just any old reason. Save our soldiers for raiding chocolate and cheeses from Switzerland. In fact, I think I'm going to write a very strongly worded letter to the Pentagon asking for exactly that.

Don't just remember the dead, today. The dead are dead. Think about their history and how that affects you. And support your local tromboners who play at Memorial Day parades. We're a charming and dashing bunch!

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"Never worry about the bullet with your name on it. Instead, worry about shrapnel addressed to 'occupant.'"