Remembrance Day, 2011

Today isn't the day for anti-war rants about the causes.

"Causes ain't goin' away. I can rant about 'em tomorrow just as easy." That's me being funny, not disrespectful.

Today is for Remembering. And for a lament. I like this particular version, the lament in a wild desolate place.

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I haven't served. I was only ever a cadet, back in the Cold War days. It was like boy scouts, occasionally with FN semi-automatic rifles. We spent summers in the Okanagan, at Vernon, the army camp above the town. Map and compass work. Lots of marching. Fond memories. But one stands out.

North of Vernon, out a week on dusty Glenemma, where tankers rolled around and gunners fired their Howitzers, at the end of one day we marched back to camp in the pines, aware other companies were watching. For those eyes watching, we marched in column, pretty as a picture behind our company pennant.

Our column began to split, from the head of it. Boys in green stepping left and right, like hikers sidestepping cow pies. Glenemma had lots of cow pies. I reached the spot where we were parting. I saw why. The dark shining curve of something we all assumed unexploded, probably a dummy round, showing in the dusty track between our marching feet.

Anyway, I never joined up Canada's regular forces. I out-grew cadets, in time became a regular in Vancouver's Peace Marches.

My dad's dad served his country in the First Great War. He's been gone a decade. I loved him. We didn't get around to talking about his war experiences. He was an unquestioning patriot to his country. I was and remain one who questions such blind faith. Had we talked, I'm guessing it would have been a superficial one. I have his medals. They're in the fire-safe, they mean that much to me. They're service medals, only that. Base metal, with ribbon attached. However, I know history. I can imagine some of what he experienced.