Today we remember the many young men, boys still, who died to save our way of life. To stop a dictator who decided that “certain people” weren’t worthy of life. That their ways were an anathema to the purity of the Caucasian race. And it wasn’t only millions of Jews he targeted. It was homosexuals, dark-skinned gypsies, and people on the fringes. One man decided, and he convinced most of a nation that his ideas were necessary and patriotic. He formed an army to enforce his ideology. The US was reluctant to intervene, but in the end, we had to fight to keep that belief from spreading. We agreed that the democratic ideal–a person’s freedom to choose his or her way of life, as long as it didn’t harm someone else, was worth fighting for—even worth dying for. We believed in liberty and justice for all, not just some—not just for the “true believers”, not just for the fair-skinned, light-eyed people. We were dealing with our own prejudices then, so there was some hypocrisy in our grand gesture, granted. But we, along with other believers in democracy, fought, died, yet prevailed over fascism—the movement with a leader that exalts nation above the individual, a leader who divides a nation into warring factions of “us” and “them,” and then attempts to stifle, restrict and muzzle “them.” We’re still young, as a nation, and the ideals this country was founded upon are being tested—this time from within. Do we still believe that all people were created equal? Do we believe that every person has the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? Do we believe in equal opportunities for all? Or have we decided that in order to be considered a true American you have to be a Christian? That you have to speak English? That you mustn’t be allowed to learn that we as a nation weren’t always good guys? That our ancestors once wiped out an entire indigenous population—with malice and forethought. That our great, great grandfathers once bought and enslaved human beings? That we interred thousands of citizens of Asian descent because they looked like the people who bombed Pearl Harbor? That some families are different because there are two dads or two moms? That a tiny percentage of the population are born uncomfortable in their bodies? That women have no rights over their reproductive health? That some Americans are Jewish? Some are Buddhists? And some Hindus or Muslims? Or that some Americans do not believe in a deity at all? Who gets to decide who the true Americans are? Are we going to allow one person, one movement, to decide? Or will we continue to fight and die for the ideal that gives freedom of choice to everyone? Are we still a democratic nation or are we becoming an autocratic one? We’ll see. Happy Memorial Day. Let’s remember today the principles those boys fought and died for and decide for ourselves if we still believe in them.

Maybe a year or two after Penny joined our family,, something kind of amazing happened: a huge, arthritic black lab who lived in the farm next to us wandered over one day, and Penny cried and wagged and cried some more, and ran back and forth to the front door. They were cries of pure joy, so I let her out. Clearly, these two had known one another in another life, and were reunited. She danced around him and, bless his heart, he tried to keep up with her. Colt was his name, and he became a regular visitor. Sometimes days would pass, but we could always count on him to show up, and with his presence on our porch, the same dancing-crying show would get her an open door. I’d never seen anything like it before, but over the years it became normal. He came by about a week after she died. Up on the porch, staring into the front door, ambling around the house. And he’s been back twice since then—each time breaking my heart all over again. “She’s not here, Colt,” I say through tears. “I’m sorry—so sorry—but she’s not coming back. You don’t need to keep trying, buddy.” He found, and then lost, the love of his life. I know just how he feels.