Happy Belated Birthday, Mr. V (And America)

 We spent a quiet Independence Day here at home. There's no formal celebration in our small town, which is a shame--I miss the parades, the fireworks, and with the little guys at home, driving anywhere to get to any festivities is a lot of work. Besides that, it's vaguely unsettling to be reaping the countless benefits of all those who have sacrificed for American freedom without even a single firecracker to acknowledge it (though many buy the little buggers over in South Dakota and set them off, illegally, in Minnesota. But since the state is "shut down," people didn't have much to fear about getting caught--that, and the local police don't seem to care. In a few years I daresay we'll join those law-breakers. But I digress). Most people here go "to the lake" over the Fourth. But we stayed home, and we subsequently enjoyed one of the best reminders of why Independence Day in our country is really great.

Mr. V, a lovely gentleman at our church, celebrated his 90th birthday on Monday. Achieving that age of distinction is impressive enough. But Arnie has been blessed to raise five children with his wife of 68 (yes, that's a six-eight) years, Esther. He continues to farm land outside of town. In fact, after a windstorm just last week majorly damaged his truck windshield, he promptly knocked the entire thing out ("It was completely destroyed anyway," he told Papa) and drove to town in it, sans windshield, a few miles away. The guy is tough, no doubt about it.

I'd heard before that Arnie served in World War II and received, among other distinguished medals, the Purple Heart. At his Open House at the church, the welcome table featured a large framed mount of his military picture and his medals, including the Purple Heart. What guests couldn't see was the shrapnel that Arnie took in his back over fifty years ago while he served his country, that he still carries while he walks, and farms, and lives.

Papa said a few words to those gathered--scores of awesome family, church friends, and a few now-walker-bound buddies. Papa talked about Independence Day and how we celebrate it--parades, fireworks, picnics and barbeques with family and friends--and how we also celebrate, for the 90th time, the birth of Arnie V. Papa did some math, and come to find out Arnie has been living for more than 38% of our country's 235-year history. Over a third! Arnie promptly said, "That makes me even older than I thought." Everyone loved it. And we are so glad that we have been blessed to know him, that God has blessed us with knowing Arnie as baptized child of God.

I didn't take any pictures at the party. If I could, I would show you the picture in my head of Arnie shaking P's hand while P tells him, "Happy Birthday, Mr. V." Of S giving him one of his charming smiles. Mr. V is so sweet to our boys. And--without sounding rude, I hope--when they look at him, they look at history that even we as their parents can't comprehend, suffering that we have never had to endure, that we can hardly even imagine. I hope they can learn his tenacity, his steadfastness, his dedication to home and family. We are certainly proud to know Mr. V.

The rest of Mr. V's (and America's) birthday we spent relaxing, playing in the kiddie pool, eating homemade oven-fried chicken and sweet corn and green sweet lettuce from the garden (and strawberry-raspberry smoothies for Papa and I later). What a gift to be able to eat from the bounty of the earth; to laugh without fear with our children in the sunshine. I'll leave you with a few pics of the boys exploring the sprinkler (and of Papa tending the garden). And yes, I know the boys are not wearing the appropriate swim attire. I was lazy, and luckily it's not illegal in Minnesota for kids to run around in their own backyard sporting only their undergarments. How's that for a closer?

God bless America, folks!