Sitting in the church pew lost in thought, listening to the Veteran speak of his friends that had gone before him. My mind wanders back to a simple time of Flags, parades, and trips to the cemetery.

Every year my little sister and I would save our weekly allowance to buy tiny American flags for Memorial Day. We worked hard earning that money but seem to come up short so our Granny would pay the difference on our one-hundred tiny flags. The cashier always asked, "What are you gonna do with so many flags?"

My little sister who isn't shy said, "They are for the fallen soldiers."

We gathered our flags in the special box we used every year. It was a simple wooden box that had been in the family many years and loaded up to go into town. The parade and BBQ was the highlight of the day, then off to the local cemetery before swimming. Granny and Momma would park in the shade and wait ever so patiently as we completed our task.

My sister and I would go headstone to headstone reading the names and wondering about the person and their families. Up and down the rows making sure every Soldier had a flag on the grave. No one was forgotten that day no matter what war they fought in. We had a pattern to place the tiny American flag by the headstone and said thank you for your service.