Thank you to the children and teachers of Smithson Junior Public School for a Remembrance Day to cherish.

Don Cherry’s ‘you people’ rant on Hockey Night in Canada unfortunately diverted attention from the growing support for our military, past and present.

I was a fortunate child and grandchild, for my gramps and dad survived war zone service in WW1 and World War11, respectively, and as such were integral to who I am today. Remembrance Day, for this writer, is always a melancholy journey, a mixture of gratefulness, pride and family renewal to be the best of them, in my own imperfect way.   

They rarely recounted stories of their military service and the horrors of Gallipoli or the fears and uncertainty from the almost daily, nighttime bombings of Great Britain. Upon their return, they took up day to day living, often in occupations that were taken out of necessity, in order to provide opportunity for their families.

Peace fought for and won with great cost would hopefully quiet their troubled memories of loss and personal trauma.

It was with these thoughts and seventy-five years of life behind me (thanks to my father’s survival) that I entered Smithson School at 10:15 on November 11^th to be in the company of my seven year old granddaughter, Mollie. She was unaware that I was coming and as she looked about she spotted this grandpa and her face lit up with a smile almost too big for her face. I was reminded of my good fortune, luck, and fate to be in this place, at this time.

 I remembered my veteran dad and grandfather; and all the veterans who suffered losses for their family and unknown families from faraway places.

As the young children entered the assembly, parents, grandparents, children and grandchildren found each other in a similar fashion to Mollie. Some parents jumped to their feet and waved until I feared they would injure themselves. Almost in every case the children were more reserved because the Smithson teachers had prepared them for the solemnness of the ceremony.

I took in the scene-never completely turning my eyes from my granddaughter, in case she flashed her now toothless smile that melts my heart. I was again aware of the diversity, in every possible way, of the Smithson School community, and the blessing for parents and grandparents to have our children being raised in an environment of acceptance, tolerance, generosity and caring.

There were no ‘you people’ in this gathering!

 The formal program recognized and honoured loss, lessons were provided, and a hopeful, future path was offered to our children, grandchildren and the audience through readings, poems, songs and a children’s story. All done in a respectful, thoughtful and age appropriate way.

The Last Post was powerfully done by a Smithson teacher. Our children then exited calmly and quietly. Parents and grandparents behaved appropriately (not a certainty) following the Last Post and avoided the not so subtle ‘look’ or raising of a hand (quiet …please) by a Smithson teacher.

As I reflected on the occasion, I believe that I had witnessed in this small, urban school the best of the Canadian ideal. The Canadian experience has been and perhaps always be an imperfect journey; but these 45 minutes left me more hopeful for the future than when I entered.

I could hear my grandpa and dad by my side saying thank you Smithson community:  ‘YOU DID YOURSELVES PROUD! ‘