In our area of Philadelphia, Decoration Day (Memorial Day) was special to the people who lived there, everyone from baby to grandpa.

Everyone was decked out in red, white and blue. Every house had the flag colors, some from crepe paper. There was even red, white and blue in the spokes of bicycles. The colors were put on every wagon and little children couldn’t wait to get in. Some houses had a flag on a pole. My house had a smaller flag over the railing and we thought it was the best-dressed house in the country.

Big, small and in-between children came. Fire trucks and ambulances rolled down the highway. People marched in their best Sunday clothes. We were so proud of our Dad. He was a sailor. We cheered all the men and women who served but were so blessed to be home. My Dad had a real short leave and had to be at the railroad station because he had to go back.

Everyone marched up the avenue. Cub Scouts, Girl Scouts, service men in all branches stopped at the gravel path that led to the cemetery. We were hushed as we walked in on the gravel. The service was special. Even as a child, I knew what was being said.

“We have a great country and please help us appreciate that we live here. God bless America.”

We all sang some favorite songs and listened to the prayers. Then there was a 21-gun salute and Taps.

A holy day in my memory.