LETTERS TO THE EDITOR|
Service touching, but seating was backward
To The Daily: I want to express my thanks to the Veterans of Foreign Wars Post for the veterans memorial service at Roselawn Cemetery on Memorial Day. It was a wonderful, heart-touching ceremony, but was slightly mis-arranged.
It truly grieved me to see the elderly POW/World War II veterans and the Gold Star Mothers (mothers who had lost a child to war) sitting in near-90-degree heat for an hour and a half, while the mayor, the fairly healthy-looking commissioners and the teenage JROTC students sat on the shaded porch, which they used as the speakerís platform.
Iím almost sure all of them could have walked up the steps to speak if the seating had been reversed and given to the ones being honored.
Respect goes along with honor, donít you think?
People will believe what they want to believe
To The Daily: When I read the letters by Miriam Klopfenstein and Edwin J. Salten in The Daily on June 3, I realized they had something in common. They both believe what they want to believe despite good evidence to the contrary.
My first reaction was amusement, until I remembered a lesson I was taught when I was about 10 years old. That is, do not take them lightly.
I had a friend my age, who was being raised by an older couple who had no children of their own. He called them Aunt Jenny and Uncle William (not their real names) and he loved them dearly. When Aunt Jenny went blind from diabetes he was devastated. So was I, as much for him as for her.
Then one day as I was walking past his house he came running out shouting ďAunt Jenny can see, Aunt Jenny can seeĒ. He practically dragged me into the house to witness the miracle. What I witnessed was Aunt Jenny still blind as a bat. When I pointed out how obvious it was, he became abusive and combative and told me that although we had been friends for forever, if I persisted in my opinion I would never see him again. I persisted.
However, he was wrong about me not seeing him again. Two days later I could see him just a little out of one eye.
Connie Mack Thomason