Darkness 11-29-2009

On this day 2009: Sgt. Mark Renninger, Officer Ronald Owens, Officer Tina Griswold, and Officer Greg Richards, of the Lakewood police department, in Washington state were ambushed in a Forza Coffee Shop as they prepared for their shift. All four died at the scene and throughout the nation's law enforcement family, past, present and future, an incredible darkness overshadowed the light for many days. Today our thoughts go out to the families of the fallen officers who will struggle with the darkness for a very long time. If you are a practitioner of prayer, helping these families would be a good reason to interrupt Gods busy day!
By: Randy J Cole..

3 OZ.

Words and Image by Randy J Cole

3oz. refers to the wieght of a law enforcement officer's badge. This a memorial to officers who have lost thier lives in the line duty.
Officer Mike Stone of the Bothell Police Department Washington State took the time to pose for my memorial project.

Whispers of Our Fathers

I was born in 1955. I grew up in a time of this country when Americans made great strides and suffered numerous setbacks: from comic book space flight to landing astronauts on the moon, the civil rights movement, the birth and death of great leaders. Three channels on a black and white television was a blessing. Everyone stood and knew what to do with their hats and right hand when the National Anthem was played. As we stood and stared at the American flag, we would at times get goose bumps as it was gently “aroused” by the wind. It always amazed me that sometimes at just the right moment, this beautiful symbol was guided into its inspiring ballet by unseen hands and the breath of a thousand unheard voices.
My father, Wilbur, passed away on a sunny, cool day in September of 1998. Like most young men of his generation, he served his country in a war that had definition, support, and an understanding of the American people. They knew of the high cost should the war be lost. Our symbol, our heart of the nation, our flag would never enjoy the freedom to fly above its own soil without retribution.
My father loved the flag. Year after year he would march in our small town Memorial Day parade, proudly carrying the red, white and blue. He looked sharp and determined wearing the World War II uniform of an Army Staff Sergeant. He was a proper choice as bearer of the flag.
The day of my father’s burial was a busy day. Details, preparations, laughter and tears. I found myself at the funeral home asking to inspect the hearse my father would be carried in. It seemed silly even then but you would have had to have known my father to understand. I also made a request on behalf of our family. I requested that the funeral procession take a slightly different route to the cemetery than normal. A route that would take my dad past the house that he built with his own two hands after the war. A house that gave his family the protection, warmth and a place we could all call home.
The American flag had been hung on its support over the front door. The yard had been prepared for one final inspection. The air was still but clear. The hearse slowly approached my family home and the thoughtful driver paused for a few moments. The flag, which had hung motionless all day suddenly and respectfully, began to beckon my father to join the thousands of his generation who had gone before. Could it have been just a sudden breeze that unfurled the flag or was it the unseen hands, breath and whispers of our fathers?
For those of you who are of my generation, it should be easy to look at that flag and see the faces that surround it as well as hear the whispers. They are from our fathers and they are asking us all to help younger generations to hear, see and understand them as well.

Randy Cole

This story was originally published in the Western News in 2005.

Being Fifty Plus

By Randy J. Cole

If you are fifty plus such as I, first you are to be congratulated. It wasn’t easy getting here but we did it. Pat yourself on the back. No matter how you feel about your accomplishments during those past five decades or so, you should acknowledge to yourself that you are now a wealth of information for the young, provided that they take the time to ask. It is clear that many of the things that we experienced during the fifties, sixties, seventies and eighties cannot be recreated on a hard drive of some computer. Sure the images are there but not the smell, taste and emotion of what we saw and heard. I smile when I ask my children what they did in school and they answer, “In history we are studying about the president that got shot in Texas.” My reply is always, “Oh really, let me tell you what it was like on that day," because like every other fifty plus person out there I was old enough to remember where I was and what I was doing when it happened. The same goes for the other major events of our time. Other assassinations, space exploration including the landing of man on the moon and so much more. I don’t know if my children recognize that what I have to say is important, or maybe they are just being polite. But they do listen to me and with luck they will remember what I have to say.
I listened to my father when he talked, but the problem was I didn’t ask enough questions. I missed the chance of finding out what it was like when he served in World War II. I missed my chance; he was buried with military honors in 98. I still smell the gun powder from the twenty one gun salute and I still remember the faces of the old veterans who fired those rounds. Most
of these gentlemen would soon take the role of my father as recipients of this time honored salute. They knew it and you could see it in their faces. As fifty plus Americans, we should understand the sacrifice that was made by our fathers, mothers, aunts and uncles and share it with our children and grandchildren. If you are lucky enough to have a living relative or friend that served in WWII, take your children and grandchildren to them. Encourage the kids to ask questions and the veterans to answer. There are still a number of World War II veterans alive to answer questions for the young but you can’t waste anytime asking them. Time runs short. One event coming within our lifetime my friends will be the passing of the last piece of living history from the war that had to be fought, and had to be won. I thought about it as I walked around the beautiful memorial to the veterans who served in World War II in our capitol a few years back. It is my favorite of all the memorials and I wish my father would have been able to see it. I wish that every living veteran from WWII could see it. I would gladly give up a portion of my tax return if it were to be put into a plan that would provide an opportunity for remaining veterans to go there and experience the thoughtfulness that was put into its design. It would also be a good reminder for younger people that we would have nothing as a nation if those honored by this monument had not made the sacrifices that they had made. In closing let me remind you that being close to someone who served or was a spouse or girlfriend or boyfriend to one that had served and not asking them to reflect is like walking into a library with blinders. Take the time to ask.