It began simply enough. Just one of those things parents do to support their kids.
In 1991, we’d barely moved to Saskatchewan from Ontario, and our son decided to sign up for Sea Cadets. The Preacher and I went to a few Branch (parent) meetings, but he never stopped. Next thing I knew, they sat side by side at the kitchen table polishing two pairs of military boots. Rubbing with the yellow cloth and black wax till they could see their faces in the leather.
Anthony didn’t seem to mind when his Dad became a civilian officer, then, two years later a commissioned officer. Rick and Shawn Stoneham, another officer, flipped positions every few years, as per protocol, between Administration and Commanding Officers.
Sometimes the Preacher handed out trophies at yearly inspection. Taught classes. Marched down the lines where Tony stood with his friends, pole still, at attention. Impeccable in their dark uniforms and white hats. Waiting their turn to be inspected.
I sewed on badges until my fingers bled. Became familiar with the jargon. Bos’n and Cox’n and Petty Officers First and Second class. Swab the deck and tidy the galley; aye, aye and adrift. And all that in a school gymnasium on our landlocked prairie. Not a boat or sea in sight. In summer, the Cadets sailed Lasers at York Lake. I did too, once. I always wished I could fly, and that day, I did.
I remember a frigid Remembrance Day when Anthony served as sentry at one corner of the Yorkton cenotaph. Poppy aflame, he stood, head bowed, hands on the butt of his rifle. He never raised a finger to catch the drip poised on the tip of his nose, reflecting the pallid morning sun. He looked like a soldier and I shivered.
Our boy aged out at eighteen, eventually packing up his memories, leaving home and trophies behind. The Preacher stayed on, working with a few other faithful officers, taking turns at all the jobs to keep the corps alive.
When the Corps closed a few years ago, Military Cadets in the next city wanted the Preacher, naval uniform and all. He transferred over. At sixty-five, he accepted a chrome watch engraved with his name and dates of service as a commissioned officer: Nov 26, 1995 – February 10, 2018. Then he donned civvies and the next week backed down the steep steps with his walker, back to his little downstairs office at the Melville Legion, to keep those Army Cadets properly administered.
Life is made up of strings of doings. Parades of weeks and years, passels of pleasures and tasks. Some don’t matter for eternity. Many do. Gathering with other believers helps us stay strong in faith. Soldiers for Jesus, united in the spiritual battle against the enemy of our souls. That matters.
And in a way only God knows, for hundreds of young people brushing shoulders with a strong believer who lived out Jesus’ love for them, I believe those weeks and years of Cadets matter too.
