There’s a Memorial Day parade every year in the beach town where my parents live. 

I didn’t make it this year, but my parents went and said it wasn’t much different. 

You have the high school marching band, military Jeeps, fire trucks, the town council, the Women’s Club, the Little League, the Boy Scouts and the Veterans of Foreign Wars marching with other clubs, including my favorite, The Women of Irish Heritage. 

Two years ago we attended and Dad struck up a conversation with two men nearby.

You could tell they served because of the blue baseball hats they were wearing emblazoned with the names of the ships they served on in the Navy. 

It turned out the three men had participated in three different wars (WWII, Korea and Vietnam). All, however, were assigned to the same type of ship: a destroyer. 

They compared details about their stints on the so-called Tin Can, the nickname given the destroyer because of its relatively thin hull and light construction versus battleships and cruisers. It was more vulnerable, but also more maneuverable. 

It was remarkable to listen to the men bond over a shared experience separated by decades. It was amazing for me to see the immediate connection they had. 

My favorite part was when dad corrected them about the layout of the ships, including the location of the radio room. 

Two of my father’s friends from high school, Bob Vogel and Ted Lange, died in the Battle of the Bulge. Dad enlisted shortly after that and did a year of training before the war ended in 1945.  

Memorial Day was created to honor the fallen. 

But it is the living who remember their sacrifice who we should also thank.