O ne of my college Professors said “As you live your life, pick a bouquet of memories. When you are older, your bouquet will be your memory. pick a flower and think back on wonderful times” What a great idea. All of us have happy memories to remember, Some memories are not so fragrant, but even your tears will become part of your bouquet. Memorial Day has become a time for memories, a time when we recall names, faces , voices, gestures, sacrifices, and happy moments we have known in years that have long gone by.

Oh! What a wonderful day was Memorial Day in the thirties, I dragged one of my memories of that day out of my memories. It started a few days earlier when all school kids were to sell poppies and we were told that the money would go to keep Memorial Day special for every Soldier, Sailor and Marine that had died while fighting for America, so we were very serious about selling as many poppies as possible. I was especially serious, I thought a whole lot of poppies would certainly sell in the tavern. So I ignored the sign that said “NO MINORS MAY ENTER” and I went in. I was right! I sold a lot of poppies if I sang a song, which I did. But the manager came in and sent me out of the tavern. My dad, who was the pastor in this small town, heard about me. He was real mad! You can imagine what happened. I didn’t ever do that again!

Memorial Day came and all the town folk came out of their houses to watch the parade. It started with a fire truck and a bunch of tractors and other farm machines, then came the mayor, Mr. Larson in his car. Last was the school band, We didn’t have uniforms but most of us wore black pants or skirts, so we looked pretty good. I played the bass drum because my folks couldn’t afford an instrument. The drum was put on a wagon and a little boy was put in charge of pulling it. I was banging the drum as much as I could, but the boy wouldn’t march! He was going faster than the rest if us. The worst thing of all was the people were laughing at me! But many of them told me I really made the parade, so I was happy,

The day went on and we, the people went with it. There was plenty of food on tables placed on main street. Boys seem to be hang around them and steeling some before all of us were told it was time to eat. My brother was one of these. Next, my dad came up to the tables and everyone followed. They knew it was time for the prayer. Then everyone ate, and did they eat! Then came the games! We kids played most of the games we played at recess time at school. Some of the men and the older boys pounded on a ball that went way up a pole or they played horse shoe. after we tired of games, my dad led all of us in a sing-along. We had more to eat before all of us went home. It was a wonderful day, but all through the day we were reminded of the soldiers who were killed in battle.

Perhaps if we saved the day honoring our soldiers who were killed in battle instead of that day being remembering everyone who has ever died, we might honor our soldiers more. After all, each family remembers each one who has died.

My dictionary defines words as being “linguistic forms that can be spoken; a mere sequence of sounds or letters and communication.” Those definitions are okay, I guess, but the truth is that “words” are more powerful than that.

Words can begin a friendship or end one. They can renew old relationships. Words can encourage or discourage, bring hope or despair, faith or unbelief. But the right one to use at the right moment is oftentimes just not there when we need it. She is a good friend, a loving wife and mother who always has the time to help anyone in time of need. a malignant growth which started small, has taken over her body. What words can we say that will help?

Or how about the middle aged man, living in the beautiful home he and his wife created together. Only now he lives there alone. His wife lives in a nursing home and doesn’t even know who he is! What words can we use to help him? Are there any?

Remember that childhood limerick: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” What a falsehood that is! Words can hurt. They can even kill. Are there any one of us who wouldn’t give just about anything if some of our own words could be erased from the hearts of friends or loved ones?

My daughter picked up the phone one day. It was a wrong number. After listening to the apology on the other end of the line, I heard my daughter say, “That’s okay, I liked talking to you.” You know, those words could have brightened the day for the unknown caller, couldn’t they?

I read somewhere that every word we hear, experience or say, is stored somewhere in our tiny brains. If that is so, then shouldn’t we begin now to make our words more often helpful than hurting, more loving than biting, more sympathetic than unfeeling? I’ll try, will you?