June 14, 1958 vs June 14, 2025
Celebrating what this day is about historically, and not the circus in our nation's capital.
Sixty-seven years ago, on June 14th, 1958, is the day my parents, Marlow and Marcy, got married. Mom was barely 18, and Dad would be 18 in a week after they said their ‘I do’s. So young with their whole lives ahead of them. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall at the time they decided to leap into forging a life together.
Was it an instinctual move, well thought out, encouraged by friends and family, an expectation, or a bit of all of those? Were they madly in love or just enamored enough with each other to want to escape rural America together as a couple?
Looking at this picture is so intensely bittersweet and induces tears every time.
My parents rarely discussed in detail their upbringing or what led them to exchange vows. I was always hesitant to probe either of them much about their past. First, because it seemed private and not relevant to the present, and in my younger years, I was not particularly interested. Secondly, what I had gathered throughout the years from various indirect and direct resources, as well as conversational stories, was that neither of them had an easy time growing up. Thirdly, I am one of those individuals who feel that if someone wants to share their past, even family, the ball is in their court. Prying was not my style.
The problem with that strategy is now that my parents are gone, there is so much I do not know about them before I entered the picture. I can only infer, and those inferences may be unintentionally inaccurate, which leaves me with an empty feeling —a void that makes my heart ache.
Learning about the past is how we come to understand and respect the whys and whats. Denying the past negates what makes us who we are now. Pretending the challenges we endured have no bearing on how we respond and behave in the present is living a lie.
I am no longer afraid to probe into the past as a means to explain or discern the present. It has become a matter of achieving acceptance. Knowing our history gives us the means to move forward with some insight and a modest understanding of what to reiterate and what to avoid.
Fast forward to June 14, 2025, a date chosen to celebrate a birthday via a military parade for someone who dodged the draft and needs to have his ego stroked, is beyond shameful. It makes me so angry that this day will have to share the spotlight with such significant historical events as the Second Continental Congress establishing the Continental Army to coordinate military efforts against British forces during the Revolutionary War, or Flag Day, when the Continental Congress adopted the design of the United States flag.
I want to scream into the abyss like so many. You can just feel the collective emotional reverberations.
Our flag has been desecrated in the name of an administration that couldn't care less about its true history and meaning. I personally have not wanted anything to do with the US flag because of its abuse and confiscation by a group of individuals stomping on its true spirit, not to mention the use of the word patriot for their own disingenuous purposes.
In my own life, sharing this day with the 67th wedding anniversary of my parents makes me feel physically ill. These were two people born at the tail end of the 30s, whose parents may have survived the depression, the Dust Bowl, failed crops, and financial ruin, but not without emotional and physical scars.
Two barely 19-year-olds adventuring into a life with only their personal experiences and endurance to propel them forward. They started their family, and by the time they turned 26, their four children filled the small three-bedroom house on Dakota Avenue. Marlow and Marcy worked hard, got involved with their community, made time for play, and always helped out wherever needed.
If I know one thing about their past, it is that benevolence was ingrained in their DNA towards their neighbors, family, and friends. My parents lived it fully, and their children have carried on this tradition in different ways throughout their lives.
This is what gnaws at my heart and soul; this day should be about freedom and compassion on every level - nationally, regionally, locally, and personally. But at this moment in time, we are dealing with some horrendously evil actors whose revenge on the American people is a direct result of their inability or desire to face their demons, their generational trauma, their true heritage, and their inherent greed and need for power. The American people have become their scapegoat and punching bag, to what end, no one knows. Not to mention, their use of the military to squelch dissent and falsely boost their delusional ideals is a bizarre paradox to what this day historically represents.
The thing is, regular people know struggle, know defeat, know joy, know love, know compassion for all, and we will endure as we have for hundreds of years. I will use the anger currently running through my veins and continue to fight on all the fronts that feel right to me. I am fighting especially for my daughter, who does not deserve any of this BS; NO ONE DOES.
Thank you for reading and following my writing. I appreciate comments.
No Kings Day, June 14, 2025. Be there if you can.
I wasn't privvy to my parents' love story, and witnessed and endured their bitter relationship from an early age. I saw a little bit of OG love at the end when my mom had dementia and my dad was dying of lung cancer. My mom laid her head on my dad's shoulder, shocking me. She was never tender to my dad, only hostile and aggressive. Speaking of which, the Trumpers did not like No Kings Day and were blustering about in their noisy pick-up trucks. My hope is that yesterday was the turning point. Stay strong!