NIAGARA FALLS — This extended Memorial Day weekend began and ended with tears for me and a few others local folks for radically different reasons that were all about the same thing — life’s beginnings, its end and what goes on in between.

Like just about everyone else who grew up here, or for that matter, almost anyplace else in America, Memorial Day marks a moment when we should all stop and appreciate the service that all military veterans have given to our country, especially to those who have made that ultimate sacrifice in war, giving their lives in order that we may be free.

Growing up here, I recall the pride and pageantry of the long parades that marched along Falls and Main Street, and as I remember it just about everybody who could get there was there standing at attention with hats off, hands over hearts, and mouths agape as the hundreds of American flags, synchronized marching bands, majors, majorettes twirling their batons and beautifully decorated floats carrying pretty waving girls and sweating politicians eased by the reviewing stand and thousands of cheering Niagarans.

I don’t know what it is about a parade that brings out so much emotion in me, but I get excited. I guess I just like to celebrate, and a parade is one good way to celebrate anything.

Maybe it’s the music and the precision of the uniformed bands, or the crowd gathered together for a brief moment of revelry and plain old fashioned fun. Whatever it is, I like it and I miss it!

We don’t do parades like we used too.

But back in the day when I was a child, it seemed to me that the whole city was there. If you weren’t in the parade, you were watching it. It was a big deal, something folks worked hard to put together and enjoyed before we dragged our plaid coolers and goodies over to someone’s backyard, or to the picnic tables at Hyde Park or Beaver Island or Old Fort Niagara or someplace for a day of overeating, playing horseshoes, softball, napping under a tree and having all sorts of other harmless fun.

Once we had paid our respects to the soldiers, and the noise died down you could tell that this city was celebrating; even the normally busy factories were toned down a tad as many of them operated with skeleton crews in observance of the tradition.

Hopefully, this year with the groundbreaking for the Niagara Falls Veterans Memorial at Hyde Park we might be able to rekindle that tradition. I’d like that and I am sure a great many others would appreciate it too.

But I digress, my weekend began with a wedding last Friday evening at the Word of Life Ministries Church on Porter Road.

I don’t think that I had ever been a guest at a Friday evening wedding before, but this was unique and special. As a friend of the bride’s family I was invited to attend what turned out to be a very joyous ceremony presided over by the church’s pastor, the Rev. Jesse Scott.

The altar in the front of the church is illuminated by beautiful stained glass, and with the clouds parting just in time for the exchange of vows, the sun lit up the sanctuary, beaming blessed light all over the congregants and the wedding party.

And on the outside ledge of one of the windows at least 25 feet above the ground, a mother bird was flying back and forth bringing and feeding food to her new hatchlings. “How fitting,” I thought.

I listened intently as the good reverend led the couple through the solemn occasion, and in the distance I could hear the soft cries of joy as the lovely bride and her handsome groom promised to stay together through thick and thin, no matter what, for ever and ever, and ever.

It was powerful enough to bring a tear or two to mine own eyes too.

Later, at the reception I had the opportunity to sit right next to a sprite two year old adorable little girl by the name of Ocean, and we had more fun with our food than anyone in the room.

Who says you have to eat with silverware?

Still dressed in full wedding regalia, I left the reception before it was over and headed to a good friend’s house for a fish-fry.

My buddy is an avid fisherman; he had hit the mother load and brought it home. I ate fish until I was about to explode, but besides the fish, which was nothing short of delicious, we had a good talk around the campfire he had built in his amazing backyard.

As we sat around the embers, my eyes watering from the smoke that seemed to follow me no matter where I sat, we agreed that he and I had learned some very important life lessons while camping as kids.

We also agreed that we should share that experience with some of the young boys and girls who may otherwise never have that chance to develop the way we did if they remain stuck in the city all summer.

We’re going to work on that.

By Monday afternoon I had been to more cook-outs, barbecues and picnics than I can count. A word to the wise, especially if you happen to be a literate chicken capable of reading this column; you do not want to be anywhere near this place on any holiday weekend. We will eat you!

Finally it was over. The late night thunderstorm rinsed away most of the leftover traces of Memorial Day and it was back to work for most; it was business as usual except for those of us at Saint John AME Church yesterday afternoon for the Home Going Celebration of a young lady who died unexpectedly, far too soon, way too young.

With several hundred friends and family I sat through the moving eulogy given by the church’s Pastor, Reverend B. Leslie James as she reminded us that we must all leave this place; that life is just a dress rehearsal for the eternity that follows.

“Life”, she said, “like death, should be celebrated.”

The mournful hushed crying of a lady leaning over in a pew near me brought tears to my eyes, not as much for her as for the joy I felt in knowing that it is what we do right now that matters, not what they’ll say about us when we’re gone.

Contact Bill at bill.bradberry@yahoo.com.