Column: Memorial Day thoughts while riding my Schwinn

column-memorial-day-thoughts-while-riding-my-schwinn

Dear readers,

Tomorrow is Memorial Day. I pumped up the tires on my old Schwinn and took a ride around town as I thought about today’s column. 

Memorial Day Weekend marks the beginning of summer vacation for those still in school. Merchants have Memorial Day sales. Families have cookouts. Race fans attend the Indy 500. 

My Schwinn, with its rusty spokes and worn seat, has witnessed countless Memorial Days. It’s more than a bicycle; it’s a time machine — a vessel that carries me back to moments from my youth.

As I pedal my trusty Schwinn through the quiet streets of Shelbyville, I find myself contemplating the significance of Memorial Day. It’s not just about barbecues, beach trips, or the unofficial start of summer. No, it’s deeper than that — a thread connecting us to the past, weaving through the present, and stretching toward an uncertain future.

Riding along Shelby Street near Morrison Park, I pass the former home of my fifth grade teacher, Miss Frances Liles. It was Miss Liles who first told me the true meaning of Memorial Day. It is the day when we take time to honor America’s military men and women who died in war.  White crosses are placed on the courthouse lawn bearing the names of all Shelby County veterans who lost their lives in service to our country.

Miss Liles had lost several of her high school friends in World War I including Paul Cross. She told our class about how Paul Cross was a well-liked boy in school. He was the son of the minister of the West Street United Methodist Church. After he died in the war, the new gym at the high school was named in his honor. Cross was a basketball player and to this day the award given to the most outstanding basketball player at Shelbyville High School is the Paul Cross Award.

In Shelby County, our Memorial Day celebration is no grand spectacle. It’s a modest affair — a brief speech near the crosses on the courthouse lawn. But oh, the stories those crosses tell. They remember the distant battles — the mud of Normandy, the jungles of Vietnam, the deserts of Iraq.

I decided to end my bike ride at Forest Hill Cemetery, the final resting place of Paul Cross. The inscription reads, “In memory of Paul F. Cross, son of S.J. and M.A. Cross born October 5, 1897, enlisted April 7, 1917, battery E 150 FA killed in action in France June 5, 1918.”

In conclusion, Memorial Day isn’t just a date on the calendar; it’s a bridge — a fragile span between past and present. Let’s honor the fallen, remember their stories, and keep the flame of gratitude burning.

See you all next week, same Schwinn time, same Schwinn channel.

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