When it comes to the more somber topics, it’s hard to get words out of me.

In times where it’s necessary to reflect, it’s best to keep my mouth shut and observe with my eyes and ears.

In my youth, Memorial Day, particularly the overall weekend, was a period of accomplishment and relief.

I had survived another school year, and looked forward to days of sleeping in until noon, lounging around the house or visiting friends, and staying up as late as I wanted.

I never put much thought into Memorial Day — unless it was for a family function. Often, distant relatives would invite my family for food and fellowship, and it was only until recently where they implemented the “cemetery tours.”

It was where we would learn the brief history of our forefathers and ancestors, even though the Andersons, Johnsons (my grandmother’s side of the tree) and the Butlers (my mom’s part of the tree) were relatively new to the American continent.

One of those ancestors is Carl Arthur Anderson. He was the younger brother of my grandfather’s father, Edwin Leonard Anderson.

So, he would be my great-great uncle.

Other than a monument, the namesake of an American Legion post in Boxholm and some faded history of how he served and passed before the conclusion of World War I, I don’t know much about him.

The most concrete knowledge that I have of Arthur is from a quick Google search. Born in 1892, he was born and raised near Paton, in the northern part of Greene County.

Arthur joined the U.S. Army, serving with the 33rd Division of the 131th Infantry.

He was killed in action on Nov. 10, 1918, somewhere in France — one day before the Allied Powers and Central Powers agreed to a ceasefire. Today, he rests peacefully at Boxholm’s Lawn Cemetery.

My grandfather served with the Army, but didn’t serve during the Korean War. My great-uncle, the late Ted Semprini, did serve in Korea. My other great-uncle, the late Gaylord Johnson, was with the Air Force.

They served, and were fortunate enough to return home. It would years later, where they would receive and answer “the divine phone call.”

All three were fantastic human beings. I couldn’t ask for better family members.

Another uncle (on mom’s side of the family), Jeff, served with the U.S. Navy during Vietnam.

His time abroad had placed a toll on him, via PTSD. Simply put, he saw some bad stuff.

When I was young, I knew of him but I didn’t know him personally. He had fallen out of contact with my mother and my uncle.

It wasn’t until near the end where he was mentioned once more, and in the far and few instances, I’ve interacted with him. He was a different cat, but he did have a podcast and raised exotic chickens in Florida.

Uncle Jeff had since passed, and now rests peacefully on some family land near Fort Dodge.

Over the years, I have created many friendships with people who served. They were all extraordinary people, for the sacrifices that they had made.

At one point in my high school years, I considered joining one of the branches of the United States Armed Forces, but it wasn’t for me.

I didn’t have the eagle eyes of a fighter pilot, I’m flatfooted (which prevents you from serving in the infantry, I believe, correct me if I’m wrong) and I didn’t want to live on a ship for the majority of my service. I also had a bad experience with a Marine Corps recruiter.

I’m faint of heart when it comes to those activities.

However, I have nothing but respect for the men and women who have served our country in the past and at present time. It takes courage to make that leap and defend our way of life from forces determined to take that away.

These days, Memorial Day means more to me.

War is not glorious, nor is it pretty. It’s horrific, and brings out the worst in people. However, until we can all convert our swords, arrows, guns and missiles into plows, tools and other devices to help make the world a better place — it’s something that we have to contend with.

I don’t believe that we need some outside force to make us cast away conflict as a means to an end. Instead, it needs to come from within all of us.

Until that day comes where lions can lay amongst lambs, and we can move past war, we must pay homage to those who put everything on the line — especially those who have given their lives — to protect loved ones, friends, acquaintances, strangers and our country.

Even if it’s for a moment of reflection.