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It truly is Memorial Day

    Some believe it is a three-day weekend. A long weekend primarily to have extra time for traveling, picnics, swimming or just relaxing. Some think it is the official beginning of the warm-weather season; a time to make plans for trips, patch the tent for camping, and make sure the pool is crystal-clear for a summer of swimming. In the end, it is and always will be … Memorial Day.

    The meaning is in the word. Memorial, memory; a time for remembrance. A time for realizing how great a price has been paid for our freedoms and liberties. Those who served our country and have been in battle zones far from home know the meaning of Memorial Day. Those whose bodies and minds are scarred for the rest of their lives know the meaning of Memorial Day. Those whose tables have empty chairs and who have empty spots in their hearts because a loved one or a friend paid the ultimate price; they know the meaning of Memorial Day.

    It used to be called Decoration Day, because people would take time to decorate the gravestones of those soldiers that had fallen for a country they loved so much. A time to pause, give honor, remember the price and the lives laid down. As a citizen of this great country, I am honored by the sacrifice of an uncle who gave his life in the service of his country so I could breathe free air. As a local pastor, I am honored by the presence of active-duty and retired military in our church family who have served selflessly so that I can worship and lead in worship on a Memorial Day weekend.

    I hope and pray that Americans all over our community and in this country enjoy picnics, time with their families and a time of rest from work and regular schedules. But I pray and hope that every American breathing free air would pause and remember ... it is Memorial Day. May God bless the United States of America.

    Pastor Lance M. Wager

    Maranatha Baptist Church

    Dover

Legislative responsibility to our heroes

America is what it is by the SACRIFICES of its CITIZENS.

Death splits families for life ...

Injuries Serious – tear people apart.

Loving and Serving for Our Country is what makes

America ... Our Legislators Must Remember The Promises

Made To Our Fallen Heroes. Quit tearing us apart and

build us back so our Young will understand and carry on

The Mission.

GONE BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN ...

Arnie Sher Samson

Townsend

In memory of Mitchell Sher, Private, 115^th Infantry Regt., 29^th Infantry Div., U.S. Army, killed in action, 1944.

A Father’s Day without Dad

GUEST COMMENTARY

Dr. Samuel B. Hoff

    My father passed on April 16th of this year, on the same day that his father died 40 years ago. A few weeks later would have been his 56th wedding anniversary, 82nd birthday and Father’s Day. But instead of thinking about what he and our family missed, I am comforted with memories of a life well-lived and of the lessons which Dad imparted to me.

    One of my most vivid recollections of my father’s advice as I grew to adulthood was to put tools back after I was done with them and to properly care for them. After my first hunting trip, where I carried but did not shoot a .35 Remington pump rifle, my father instructed me on how to clean the weapon and store it safely. When I neglected to clean a rifle after a subsequent hunt, Dad reamed me out before doing so to the rifle. Of course, I thought his criticism was overbearing at the time, though I now understand his meaning. On such important matters, there should be no need for a second reminder.

    Though my father could be abrupt when needed, he was an eminently patient man. That patience sometimes was put to the test. For example, before I learned to drive, he was always the last one in the high-school parking lot after my football games. The reason is that I was excessively slow in getting changed after games, to the point where the equipment manager of the team would give me grief. However, my father was always waiting with a positive word for my performance. Patience also relates to fortitude: to sticking to something, to finishing what is started. I am grateful to Dad for conferring those characteristics.

    Dad was a people-person whose occupations included owning a wholesale plumbing-and-heating business for 40 years, and being a Realtor for another decade after that. I used to marvel at how his employees in the stockroom could berate the company’s policies one minute and come to my father’s defense the next. Now I know. Beyond any fear of losing their job was an intense loyalty they felt toward him, a trait that he first displayed toward them. Whether at work or play, my father was loyal to employees and colleagues. It is why he had such a wide circle of friends: he did not let them down or abandon them in tough times.

    I didn’t regard my father as a complainer. However, when he saw something he didn’t like, he would speak up. He taught me about taking a stand and defending it, no matter what slings and arrows came my way. Sometimes his disagreement would be overt, and other times it was practiced through quiet protest. But in whatever form, it was always principled, always for a reason which he clearly explained, and never done for selfish reasons.

    Like most teenagers, I used to view my father’s routines and habits as boring. But his consistency was itself a value which I have tried to emulate. For example, during the time he ran the family business, I never saw my Dad take a day off for other than a medical procedure or a scheduled vacation with my mother. For 40 years, he got to work at 8 a.m. and would be home by 5:30 p.m. He liked to start his day — every day — with a bowl of oatmeal topped off with a few scoops of apple butter. How I yearn for just one more day to smell that concoction at the breakfast table.

    Throughout his life, my father comprehended the need for balance, to equalize the seriousness of life with humor. Maybe it was being born in the midst of the Great Depression or that he grew up with radio, but he knew how to listen and to tell a story. The best ones would have a comical ending; they would leave members of the family laughing and repeating his yarns for years thereafter. A father and later a grandfather, he was assured of an audience for his tales. Even after his passing, I am confident that his reminiscences are safe for several generations to come.

    However obvious it seems, children should recognize that fatherhood is unique and that the patriarch of one’s family is not always going to be around to celebrate the special times in life. I am so lucky that my Dad was there for my brother, sister and me, whether at holidays, at graduations or just to watch a ballgame with. Through my tears at his absence, I will remember his life with pride, reverence and appreciation.

    Editor’s note: Dr. Samuel B. Hoff is the eldest son of the late Samuel R. Hoff, who resided in Lykens, Williamsport and Montoursville, Pa.

Gone, but never forgotten

As a former/current federal worker with many years of service at the Postal Service, the Fourth of July is an important day for me. Since the dawn of our nation, federal workers have played a significant role in America’s achievements.

The contributions of federal workers will be very much in evidence this week as Americans prepare to celebrate our nation’s birthday. Millions of Americans will check a weather report prepared by the National Weather Service, grill meat inspected by the U.S. Department of Agriculture and fly in skies kept safe by the Federal Aviation Administration and the Transportation Security Administration. Others will enjoy time outdoors in our national parks, travel with children protected by car seats inspected by the Consumer Product Safety Commission and visit post offices to mail letters and packages to loved ones serving in the military.

My fellow federal workers and I are proud of the jobs we’ve done for America for the last 236 years. We wish you, and the nation we love, a happy Independence Day.

P.S. … In memory of my father, killed in action in World War II and buried in Belgium with many legal immigrants who believed in America ... ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.

Arnie Samson

Townsend