This past weekend, I attended the 134th consecutive Confederate Memorial Day services held by our local United Daughters of the Confederacy. Held annually since 1874, I believe it is the longest running ceremony of any sort in our county.

I think it entirely proper to honor all of our ancestors, and perpetuate their traditions for the generations who will follow us.

This week, Thomasville and Thomas County will have another great tradition unfold with our annual Rose Festival, capped off with the always-anticipated Rose Parade on Friday evening.

Now, I know some of you seem to disagree with much of what I have to say, and that’s fine with me. It has never been my intention to do anything here other than move you toward breaking the bonds of mental lethargy and political correctness, and if we disagree you’ve at least thought about what I’ve said.

So, in other words, mission accomplished.

Regardless, everyone is entitled to his or her opinion (regardless of how close to the high heavens the rest of us might think it stinks). But I truly hope what I am about to share is something we can all pretty much agree on.

In the decades I’ve attended the Rose Parade, I’ve noticed a few really aggravating habits from those “watching” the event. Most of these have revolved around unruly kids running or riding their bikes through the parade route with no regard for those actually in the parade…or walking in packs behind those sitting alongside the route cussing at each other with no regard to the small children listening to their every word.

In other words, their parents — curiously yet predictably nowhere to be found — have basically unfettered their spawn on the world for the rest of us to deal with (kind of like teaching. But I digress…).

Of all the negative things I’ve experienced, one lone scene remains etched in my mind.

Some years back, I was sitting over on the Smith Avenue side of the parade — you know, the “home stretch” of the parade down past The Plaza. The Marine Color Guard, normally one of the first units in the parade, marched perfectly in time by us, the United States flag shining brightly in front of them.

As they marched along, an older gentleman, perhaps in his 80s and sitting right by the road in his wheelchair, struggled to his feet. As hard as it was for him, he stood, removed his cap, and on shaking legs saluted the flag as it passed by.

The sight of this old man, obviously a veteran, touched me.

Oh sure, some folks clapped politely. But 99 percent of them just sat there and did absolutely nothing. Men kept their hats on. Women kept chattering with each other. Kids ignored the Marines, choosing to look down the parade route to see which “free candy” float was coming first.

Again, outside this lone old soldier, for whom the task was harder than anyone else around him, no one else stood.

No one.