A few weeks ago, I was with my son-in-law and three of my g-babies at Pearl Harbor. It was an emotional experience because my father earned a purple heart in WWII. My uncle was nearly killed December 7, 1941 at Pearl Harbor.
The boat ride, the monuments, the guides, even the movie all taught me a lot that I didn’t know. But nothing compared to what my 2-year-old Edison taught me. Out of thousands of visitors, she zeroed in on one little boy about her age and size. At the same time, he fixed his sights on her. She tugged at my hand to get to him. He ran from his mother’s grip to get to Edison. The two little strangers sized each other up, then they hugged. They danced. They laughed.
Edison lives in Hawaii, but she was born on the mainland of the United States of America. She speaks English.
Her little pal, Kaito, was born in Fukuoka, Japan. He speaks Japanese.
A small wall like a language barrier was nothing to those two kids. They didn’t need words to show us what healing looks like. I wish you’d been there that afternoon. I wish you’d seen how the crowd encircled those two little ones, oblivious to history, while keenly away of humanity.
Memorial day is a day to remember those who have died so that we might live in freedom. Today, I honor all those who have served and sacrificed. I also honor two little children who found each other and found a way to tell the rest of us that love can heal the deepest wounds.