This year, he was back at Arlington, participating in the Flag In event, where just like every Memorial Day, The 3^rd Infantry Regiment — the Old Guard, allowed the old man with a cane to plant flags at the grave sites of soldiers. He avoided the crowd at the Amphitheatre services, because well, he didn’t need the attention, even here.  He was relieved that he didn’t see the Free Palestinian protestors this year, and unlike last 2024, he didn’t get in a fight with them and didn’t have to be rescued by his Shadow man and the Blackhawks and sent to Walter Reed Hospital.

  He planted many flags, but spent most of his time kneeling at the graves of the soldiers he fought with, and there were many.  He didn’t have to write them down — he memorized their locations and easily recalled their locations, nicknames, and he recalled the individual scenes with them—never allowing himself to forget.

He kneeled at each grave, including the last grave site, the one that meant the most and always choked him up a bit, but he never let anyone see this.  And at each one, despite his fatigue, he recited out loud, after a prayer, as if each deceased soul could hear: John 15:12:  My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.  Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. And I am your friend on earth, while you are in His heavenly presence.

As Ollie he was grabbing his cane to pull himself up to walk away, a small boy tugged at his coat.  Ollie guessed he was about six, and was also carrying some flags.  He said: “Hello sir. Do you need some help?”

Ollie brought himself up, stood up straight, smiled and looked down at him and said, “Thanks son, I’m fine.  What’s your name?”

“Wyatt.  What’s yours?”

The old man hesitated and took a gulping deep breath when he heard the kid’s name, looked around, saw the kid’s mom watching at the sidewalk off in the distance, and he waved at her.  Then, he looked down at the boy and said, “My name is Ollie.  I am pleased to meet you.”

“How old are you, Mr. Ollie?”

“I am 103.”

“And you?”

“Six.  But I will be seven next month and I’ll be in the second grade.  I heard it is more difficult, but I’m not worried, I can handle it. Did you know my dad is here?  My mom said he was a hero in the war.”

Ollie smiled, but realized that young Wyatt did not mean his dad was there, walking with his mom, because he could see that the boy’s mom was alone.  He knew that the kid meant his father was deceased.  “I didn’t know that, Wyatt.  Would you show me where he is?”

By that time, his mother had joined them and she introduced herself, then silently followed Ollie and young Wyatt, mesmerized by the fact that her shy young son had taken to the strange old man, so quickly and naturally.  They arrived at his father’s grave site, and Ollie had no more flags, so he kneeled down and said a prayer for the boy’s father, then, recited John 15:12, once again.

Then, Ollie stayed down at young Wyatt’s level, looked up at his smiling mother, then said, “Wyatt, your father was a hero, that is for sure and you will be too and you will make him proud.  Be strong, obey your mother and never settle for less than the best with yourself, and treat others as you would have them treat you.”

Ollie then stood back up with the help of his cane, said goodbye and started his journey back to home, wherever that was.   After he had taken three of four steps, little Wyatt shouted back at him: “Mr. Ollie, did you serve in the war?”

Ollie turned around, looked directly at the young kid and said, “Yes. Too many.”

Ollie walked away.  The young child was the only person to ask Ollie that Memorial Day about his service, and that is how the old man wanted it.

©SRCarson, 2025