Let your babies cry this Remembrance Day

Today I went to a kid’s Remembrance Day service the day before the stat holiday tomorrow here in Alberta.

Dh came, in uniform.  This is something he does the odd year he’s in town because it makes my kids unbelievably happy and he’s a good dad.  Even though he looks about as comfortable as a very polite bull in a very loud china shop.

And they did all the things we do at Remembrance Services.  They read “In Flanders Fields.”  They sang a song.  We sang O Canada listened to the Last Post and we had a moment of silence. Then the kids laid wreaths.

And during it all, it was loud.  The school goes from preschool age all the way to grade 8.  The young kids are just that; young.  They whispered until the whispers grew louder.  They fidgeted. They fussed.  And teachers, they tried diligently to teach them to stop.  To make them be quiet and respectful.

It only sometimes worked.

I remembered then those days when I had very small ones.  And I would stand, on my own usually, in the back of a crowded gym on Remembrance Day at 11am.  And I’d bounce and I’d feed and I’d beg and I’d do literally everything physically possible to keep my babies quiet.  I usually failed.

One time I got up with a fussing baby, and I went to leave, not wanting his muted wailing to interrupt the ceremony.  Just outside the door an older Veteran grabbed my arm and he said ‘let him cry. We’re still glad you’re here.’

And then, with Dh a world away,I cried too.

Today my youngest son and his class read ‘In Flanders Fields’

“We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.”

When it was over, Dh leaned in and said ‘that was…..eerie, coming from kids, if you listen to the words.’

He’s right.  They are kids.  And it’s heart wrenching to hear them say those words in unison, and I wonder if any of us truly listen to what that poem is saying anymore after hearing it our whole lives.  It’s not some meaningless group of song lyrics that we can repeat and hear without listening.  It’s tragic and terrible and important in it’s profound message. Though the writer had no way of knowing the future, it was as though John McCrae wrote knowing that one day, as we lived in peace, we would need to be reminded of the cost of our lives.

I know there are some of you today that think you can’t attend a service tomorrow because you’re worried your child will be disruptive.  And yet, your child is the exact reason you need to be there.  If there was ever a service, anywhere, that a child could cry through and it would be a joy to hear, it is this one.

Let your babies cry, friends, and as you quietly hush them, let your toddlers fidget and stage whisper in your ear for more cheerios.

What a beautiful sound freedom is.  

And what an important day it is to mark the reason we enjoy it.

It is to them the torch has been thrown.

“To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.”

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