Saturday, November 12, 2016

We Remember: Poppies & Peace

The Inquisitive Child
Why are they selling poppies, Mummy? Selling poppies in town today.
The poppies, child, are flowers of love. For the men who marched away.

But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy? Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died in the fields where the poppies grow.

But why are the poppies so red, Mummy? Why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child. The blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy. Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief. For the men who never came back.

But why, Mummy are you crying so? Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child. For the world is forgetting again.

                                                                                                 Author unknown

 Poppy Pin Math

Ms.O announced it was time for "a minute of science!"

Silence is not something practiced around here.

We took Rememberance Day as an opportunity to examine perspectives from books and video.

A doctor who experienced war.

Families welcoming home troops. 
(Dad, if you're reading, I don't advise you to watch)

A Jewish grandmother recalling her escape to her grandchildren.
(from Johnathan Foer's book, 'Eating Animals')
"Even at the worst of times, there were good people too.
Someone even taught me to tie the ends of my pants so I could fill the legs with any potatoes I was able to steal. The worst it got was near the end. A lot of people died right at the end and I didn't know if I could make it another day. A farmer, a Russion god bless him, saw my condition and he went into his house and came out with a piece of meat for me."
"He saved your life."
"I didn't eat it."
"You didn't eat it?"
"It was pork. I wouldn't eat pork."
"What do you mean why?"
"What, because it wasn't kosher?"
"Of course."
"But not even to save your life?"
"If nothing matters, there's nothing to save."

(the author recalls years later when his son was born)

About an hour after my son was born, I went into the waiting room to tell gathered friends and family the good news.
"You said he, so it's a boy!?"
"What's his name?"
"Who does he look like?"
"Tell us everything!"
I answered their questions as quickly as I could, then went to a corner and turned on my cell phone.
"Grandma," I said. "We have a baby."
I've never once seen or heard her cry, but tears pushed through her voice as she asked,
"How much does it weigh?"

Veterans. Flyers, Deals Canada:
 Defining Peace.

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