Last Remembrance Day, I went to the mall and got a haircut. I was home in Surrey for reading break, and my hair desperately needed a trim. I felt weird going to the mall on a day meant to commemorate and honour those who served and died in war, but I only had time to do it that day, so I felt I had no choice but to run this errand on Remembrance Day.
Around 11 a.m., the P.A. system in the mall played a recording of the Last Post. I had only ever heard the Last Post played live, usually by a member of my high school band. During the last three years of high school, I had performed with the band and choir in the commemorative services. We conducted the ceremony three times each Remembrance Day so that everyone could come and pay their respects to the fallen. It was always a long day for the music students, but it felt good to contribute by performing music to honour the dead, as if I were doing my part to help people remember the atrocities of war.
I froze in the mall, compelled to stop and listen. It was the least I could do, since I already felt terribly guilty for being at a mall on Remembrance Day. I stood still for the Last Post and Reveille; so did some other shoppers in the open atrium where I had paused. Many kept walking, indifferent to the meaning behind the music. It broke my heart to think that these people didn’t appreciate the sacrifices that had been made for them by those who were no longer around to thank. But who was I to judge? I was getting a haircut on Remembrance Day.
Once I got my haircut, I got on the bus and traveled to Burnaby to see my boyfriend. He attends Simon Fraser University, and I’m at UVic, so I don’t get a lot of opportunities to see him. It so happened that, on this visit, Remembrance Day worked best for both of us. We planned to see Hacksaw Ridge, a film about the Battle of Okinawa in World War II and the conscientious objector who wanted to serve as a medic but refused to learn how to wield a weapon. We took Remembrance Day as our first opportunity to see a movie together in several months, which meant going to yet another mall.
We went to Metropolis at Metrotown in Burnaby, the second largest mall in Canada. Even though it was only November 11, Christmas wreaths and baubles decked every hallway. It shocked me to see Christmas decorations on Remembrance Day—I had thought that the socially acceptable time to bring out the Christmas ornaments was after November 11. It seemed highly disrespectful to me to begin cashing in on the commercial value of Christmas before we had even taken off our poppies.
The mall swarmed with people, everyone taking advantage of their day off. My heart twinged with more guilt. While I understand that many people use holidays to take care of errands, was it so difficult to take just one day to sit at home in quiet contemplation and gratitude? Were we all horrible people for browsing for low-quality jeans and early Christmas gifts on Remembrance Day?
I tried to reassure myself that at least we were going to see a war movie—that was close enough to attending a Remembrance Day ceremony, right? Observing a recreation of the carnage and understanding how horrific it was?
Hacksaw Ridge was definitely horrific—I’m still scarred from the incredibly long battle scene near the middle of the movie that never seemed to end. I wanted to cover my eyes and wait for the battle scene to be over, but I forced myself to watch. I felt that this was my way of paying respect; I needed to understand and acknowledge what those soldiers at the Battle of Okinawa went through. I couldn’t let myself become desensitized to violence, lest we forget what they went through. I peeled my eyeballs and stared at the screen.
After the movie, the bloody images were burned into my brain. I barely spoke on our way to dinner at a Japanese restaurant. I didn’t feel like I’d paid proper respects to fallen soldiers; I just felt a little traumatized by the senseless violence I’d witnessed. Dinner and a movie was no way to honour the dead.
The whole day, I’d tried to think of my great-uncle Lawrence. He died in Malta in 1943, serving as a pilot in the Royal Canadian Air Force. On previous Remembrance Days, my mom and I had gone to visit my grandma, Lawrence’s little sister, to talk about him and his life. I thought of Lawrence’s mother Agnes, my great-grandmother, who also lost her favourite brother Billy at the Battle of Vimy Ridge in World War I. I never met Agnes, but my mom described her as being a miserable woman. After losing her brother and son far before their time, I can see why.
I knew that I should have spent the day reading and thinking about my ancestors and how they were affected by war. I knew that that was the right thing to do, and Remembrance Day is the only day of the year where it’s expected of us, so it shouldn’t be that difficult.
But I didn’t. I decided I would rather spend the day with my boyfriend, whom I barely ever see. Does that make me terrible? Should all those people in the mall that day feel ashamed of themselves? By carrying on with our normal lives on a day meant to honour those who died defending our peace and freedom, do we utterly disrespect their memories? Or would they be happy to see us, content and enjoying our lives to the fullest?
These questions bothered me for all of Remembrance Day last year. After much thought, I’ve concluded that Remembrance Day is best spent being quiet and grateful, rather than at the mall. If you can spare a couple hours this Remembrance Day, take the time to reflect on how war has affected those in your life and those all around the world. Watch videos about the horrors of civil conflict in other countries; read articles about how World War I made everyone realize that war is far from glorious. Find out if any of your relatives served and read about their lives. Think about what the fallen could have accomplished if they hadn’t sacrificed their lives in war.
This Remembrance Day, take the time to remember.