“Wake up, Tommy.” I gently shook his shoulder, nearly the only part of him that showed from under the covers where he was buried like a hibernating bear. He stirred, looked over at me and after taking a moment to orient himself, rolled over to sit up.

“Is the sun up yet?” he asked, looking out his darkened window.

“Not yet,” I told him. “It’ll be up soon. Come on – get dressed. We need to get moving.”

It was six thirty on Saturday morning, December 12th and we were headed for Arlington National Cemetery. Each year since 1992, a gentleman named Morrill Worcester of the Worcester Wreath Company in Maine donates thousands of wreaths to lay at the headstones in Arlington and at cemeteries across the country. I had seen the photos of the wreaths at Arlington before but never considered how they got there. This year we were going to help.

We had a quick breakfast and were out the door by ten of seven and on the metro for the seven twenty-seven Metro train out of Springfield/Franconia. By now the sun was up but it was still twenty-seven degrees outside. We warmed up a little once the doors to the train closed and we were under way. By the time we got to the Arlington stop, the train was over half full and nearly everyone got off at this stop. We waited in line to go up the escalator and into a cold, bright morning.

The crowd of volunteers, already thousands strong, was gathering in front of the McClelland gate. By dumb luck, we stumbled into some Cub Scouts from our pack. Eventually the speeches started, thanking everyone for their time, informing the masses of the history and importance of the place and of the event. Tommy took the waiting like a champ. Shortly before nine we began, walking up the hill to where three semis full of wreaths were parked.

The vibe in the crowd was jubilant, almost celebratory and more than once I looked down at my seven-year-old son and said, “This is so cool.” And it was. There were servicemen in uniform; a gang of brand new Marines and Sailors stood nearby. Older veterans, bikers, runners in running gear, girly girls in tight jeans, skate rats wishing they had more on than their hoodies, moms, dads, kids, young, old and middle-aged; it was a huge cross section of the Washington DC metro area, all areas accounted for.

The lines moved quickly and smoothly and we took our wreaths, one in each arm and proceeded into the headstones. By the time we got started, thousands of wreaths were already in place and they looked wonderful. At each headstone we read the name of the man or woman interred there and talked about the wars they fought in. We talked about how freedom sometimes requires sacrifice, about how we live in the greatest country in the world. Many of the markers were decades old.

Tommy and I went back again and again to get more wreaths and every time I looked around, amazed at how something as simple as a wreath can transform a place so hallowed. After we were done and all the wreaths were distributed, Tommy and I walked up to Section 7A where my parents and my brother are buried to say hello and pay our respects. Then we hustled back down the hill to the metro and back home.

All in all it was a wonderful event and I encourage you come out next year. Be one of the thousands of volunteers. Despite the cold, it was a warm event made great by the spirit of the people who participated and the lives of those whom we remembered.

Remember; Honor; Teach.