Memorial Day weekend means different things to each of us. For me, the memories associated with it are of our family taking Grandma around to the cemeteries down in Adrian and Hillsdale (and surrounding communities). We would, normally, do that trip on Saturday.
Sunday, the families would meet at Grandma's house, where we would have a small potluck lunch and Leo, Jeff, occasionally Dale, Dad and myself would watch the Indy 500 while Grandma, Phyllis, and my Mom would talk out on the back porch or in the kitchen. After a while they would be back in the living room.
Monday, Memorial Day, would be spent getting up "early" so we could go watch the parade. This would be, for many years, followed by a rush to the nearest McDonald's to try to get there for breakfast before they switched to lunch -- this would, often, be followed by Dad complaining about them not using Sunday's times (because it was a holiday) instead of Monday's schedule.
Why we never ate breakfast before the parade had, probably, a lot to do with our family mostly being filled with people who are not "morning people". Why we would try, every year, to go to McDonald's, instead of somewhere else, is still a mystery to me. Perhaps it was a bit of budget and a bit of fun for Dad to try to do the race there.
What all this taught me was this:
+ respect for those who came before me
+ enjoyment of spending time with family
+ not to do what causes pain, year after year, or things that are pretty much futile