Land Where My Fathers Died

September 28, 2016

America can be seen in children playing in the grass,  to the sad old man smoking his cigar. You can see America in our peace and freedom. Though we take these things for granted, on Memorial Day we are celebrate and mourn those who fought for peace and liberty.

For half of my life, America has been in Iraq fighting for the peace and liberty of strangers because it is the right thing to do. America is fighting so one day there is peace, and nobody has to fight anymore.

America is the old man in the black hat, nostalgically enjoying a cigar. Though he is gruff and grumpy, I know he has sacrificed a his time, safety, and mentality so that Americans could enjoy peace and liberty.

For some people, “America, the land where my fathers died” takes on a literal meaning. Memorial Day is remembering people who have been  lost. Though my great grandparents have fought in wars, I do not know the pain that can come with the freedom we enjoy, as they passed before I was born. For me, I respect and praise those who do know that pain by being proud of America and sacrificing my own time and energy to do what is right.

America is the sacrifice of the unknown soldier, people living in peace, music echoing through the city, cars driving through the turnpike, and families commemorating the sacrifices of others and enjoying the rights that they gave them. The simplicity of peace and an air of celebration and sadness is in the atmosphere every Memorial Day.

Just like soldiers have to give their lives for freedom, we must celebrate but also mourn for that sacrifice. Memorial day is enjoying the freedom I have, and remembering those who gave it to me.

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