An Afternoon Dream

I had a couple of hours to kill before I took care of some errands. I wandered to a local cineplex. Looking over the selections, I decided I couldn't go wromg seeing the Patriot again. Most of the 'stuff' offered was liberal gibberish, full of leftist ideals and/or the emotional content so bereft of reason. I craved that rare jewel of substance. So the Patriot it was. A movie by now, that I have seen quite a few times. It always engenders discussion, thought. It never grows old.

I slipped in and immediately noticed that the seats were almost empty. Not too surprising, since it was the middle of the afternoon and the film had run for a while.

I leaned back and waited for the show to start. Considering the content of the Patriot, my thoughts wandered to the actual War for Independence. I ran some of the facts through my mind. I considered the cost, so dear, so great by many including some of my ancestors.

The lights dimmed, the music rose and I was transported into the magic of the movies. It's a place to escape for a couple of hours or so. To be entertained and given somewhere in the experience, perhaps that 'message in the ravioli' of which I often speak. To be given rest, renewal, a laugh, a tear. Perhaps even to disturb and hopefully inspire.

Somewhere in the middle of the action I glanced around the theater. Every seat was now filled. Mostly men and a few women. Some wore clothes of the 18th century both civilian and Continental Army. There were some wearing Blue. Some Grey. The buckskin of both frontiersmen and Indians. Rough Riders, Doughboys and GIs. Folks in the civvies of the late 20th century and the digital camo of 21st century soldiers. All were raptly watching the events onscreen. None of the clothes they wore were fresh. It was obvious these folks had fought, gotten dirty and bled.

As I observed this, I was choked with emotion and wept unashamedly.

As I did so, one of the 'audience' turned in his seat towards me. He was dressed in clothes from the period portrayed on the screen, complete with a tricornered hat. He cradled a long rifle (Every person in this throng was armed).

When he turned, he looked directly at me. Eye to eye. He spoke no words. The look on his face said everything. It seemed to be, 'What will you do? It's your turn now.'

With tears in my eyes, I answered him immediately. 'I will not let you down.' He nodded.

Then, I choked a bit and noticed the closing credits rolling. I wiped my eyes and strode from the theater.

As I left I noticed the only other people in the audience. They watched the closing credits with a look of pride. The man wore a beret with symbols of his service.

Well, what do you think of my dream?

There is much to do, to plan. It's our turn now. We must not let them down. Nor ourselves.