My husband was a proud member of the Sons of the American Revolution. As such he was entitled to a special color guard at his funeral, an entourage of American Revolution vintage soldiers, decked out in their very distinctive uniforms. As honorary pallbearers they stood at attention at both the visitation in the church preceding the service and the graveside.
Just before the church service began and the family was lining up outside the sanctuary doors preparing to process, my five-year old grandson ran up to me, breathless, from viewing his grandpa.
“Gramma!” he blurted out. “Watch out! There are pirates in there!”
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