The Sons and Daughters of Heroes

In just a few brief hours, I will be taking part in a Confederate Memorial Day Celebration here in North Carolina.

Many of us will stand misty-eyed as the Confederate Battle Flag is run up the flagpole at our county’s courthouse. The flag, actually the Confederate Naval Jack, will fly proudly in the breeze until our activities for the day are finished. A “color guard” will raise the flag, lovingly, and with reverence, this morning. A 21-gun salute will be fired by the detachment of Confederate re-enactors as the flag reaches its destination high atop the staff. The unfurling of the St. Andrew’s Cross against the Carolina blue sky is a sight to behold. As the troops march away to other activities for the day, a lone guard will march unceasingly, back and forth, by the flag laden staff, for the duration of the Confederate Memorial Day event on this beautiful May morning in North Carolina.

Most of us gathered at the Courthouse will retire to a picturesque cemetery on the outskirts of town where the service of remembrance will be held. Soon the old cemetery will be teeming with tarheels, both young and old, some in their Sunday best, and other in jeans and sport shirts, and even some in shorts and sandals. A common thread runs thru the ranks of the onlookers. They are Southerners, and as such, feel a deep-seated need to show appreciation for the sacrifice made by the legendary men of the Confederate Armed Forces, The Confederate Army, the Confederate Navy, and the Confederate Marine Corp. Nearly every one of those people gathered in the cemetery today will have direct blood and DNA links to the Confederate Veterans who lie cradled in the loving arms of the Southern soil from which they came.

Confederate Memorial Day, here, is always a day of solemn, dignified, services complete with Southern patriotic speeches, and “wreath laying” at Confederate tombs, Confederate Re-enactors marching, and wheeling, and firing their replicated weapons… all in honor of the epic deeds of the men of the Confederate Armed Forces and their unequaled honor and courage, daring and bravery, now legendary around the world.

We will take this day to allow ourselves to feel the pride at the sight of the Confederate Battle Flag snapping in the morning breeze, reaching inland from the Atlantic Ocean, and the North Carolina Flag of Secession, which was the first flag North Carolina had, as an official state flag, and still flies today with only the dates changed. As we stand proudly and recall the faded pictures grandma and grandpa used to show us of our brave boys in gray, their father, or grandfather, remembered, and mourned, to this day. We remember the sacrifice Southern families made as they fought a fledgling world superpower for their independence from a country they felt had betrayed them by denying them their rights as Americans.

We will look upon a new monument raised in honor of the Confederate Veterans buried in this old, immaculately kept, place of eternal rest. We will read the inscriptions and weep. For here lies that great, great, grandfather depicted in those faded photos shown us by grandma and grandpa. We have never met, save through those pictures, and yet, we know him. We know him because the sane blood flows in our veins, the same DNA, along with echoes of his personality, his passion, his spirit, his unselfish bravery, and his love for his home… the land of Dixie.


Our hearts will nearly burst with pride. Our minds will race backwards in time to wonder what would it really be like had the Confederate Forces won the great fight. And we will be satisfied that things would have, somehow, been better than they are today.

And finally we will tread softly among the simple white grave stones with the “CV” carved upon it, some with names and rank and some with nothing but “CV”, the identity of the soldier lying beneath it lost in the mists of time… forever forgotten, save for those who have taken an oath to preserve his memory for the generations yet unborn. The small St. Andrew’s Cross, on the tiny Confederative Battle Flag fluttering above his resting place, will mark his place the same as the Colonel’s, or the Major’s, or the Captains’, or the Lieutenant’s. In death, no rank applies; there is no privilege of rank here.

As we quietly, and reverently, tow our children, and grandchildren, from gravesite to gravesite, on our cheeks we feel the feathery touch of the wingtips of unseen angels standing guard over these heroes of the Southland.

And finally we will leave that hallowed ground, where lie our heroes, and wind our way back to our respective homes.

As we close this day of remembrance we will vow, to never forget. To never allow our families to forget. And unlike many pledges we make ourselves, this one we will keep. We have no choice. The men among whose graves we have just trod near, gave everything for their beloved Southland in the hope that we would be free of the constraints of a government their Grandfathers had helped to create. A government they felt had let them down. They fought the army of a foe many times their size, with an inexhaustible supply of men and materiel, to a bloody standstill, while the politicians, behind the lines, created another government, the Confederate States of America, a country which would be ruled only by the voice of God and her people. It was an impossible deed. A dream? No. Not a dream, for it was created, this Southern Government, but it’s life was cut short while still in infancy.

Many ask why we don’t forget the war and allow it to slip into that place of lost memories. We can’t forget, we must not forget. To do so would mean we lose out identity, our sense of self, our sense of family, and most important of all, our sense of honor. We must honor our heroes. We are their blood kin, their sons and daughters. Yes, dear reader, we are the sons and daughters of heroes! And we must act like it!

For The South! May it ever be so!

I remain,

Your Obedient Servant,

“Longstreet”