I used to dread Constitution Day as my teachers and classmates would have me stand and bow to their standing ovation when they recited each of the 47 names of the signatories. My forebearer was number 33.
My elder brother loved the attention and relished the day. He easily became an Admiral in the Navy and had commanded several of the most storied and famed ships of the line. He was a patriot and steadfast loyalist to the cause and thus our parents favorite.
I memorized all the important dates and names, sang the patriotic songs and went through the motions as all good school children, but my parents knew my heart was not into the Revolution, but our status afforded me this luxury that so few had. I was free to reject everything.
It was brother who sat me down one day when I was ten and set me straight on the world. He told us of our great uncle who had died in the war. He then shared with me what grandfather had told our father and he in turn told him that he was actually murdered before he could commit treason. He as it turned out was very much like me and began to reject everything and so our grandfather had him shot. And to make it clear how serious an infraction I was making he handed me the bullet they pulled from our great uncle's skull in the palm of my hand then wrapped my fingers tightly around it.
He embraced me as his dear brother and said that he would not hesitate to kill any enemies of the Republic be it foreign or at home. I never again rejected everything, well, I never again told anyone.
When father was alive, we all met at the ancestral home on a vineyard twenty miles North of town several times a year for family events and holidays. At least a hundred members of our extended family would gather from all corners of the Republic and it was a festive mood. My favorite cousins from the coastal province would always be there and we would laugh and play as small children and later share stories before we met again during university.
Every Revolution Day we held a large party and invited the neighbors who included two other name sakes of signatories, the Adelaides, number 43 and the Yorkmans, number 46. Naturally, our social status being based on what position our family name was on the charter.
The Adelaides were mere wine merchants who had the good fortune of a vintners son surviving the pivotal battle against the old guard and was present at the signing of the charter. The Yorkmans, were once a more respected clan had fallen on hard times, but their forebearer was a General who fought in many of the major engagements and would have signed much earlier, but was late to the ceremonies, something they've resented and felt he could have signed as early as 7 or 8.
This was something anyone related to the 47 signatories often bantered and engaged in foolish and pointless debate. My forebear was also a vintners son, but had proudly saved the day at the final battle. He carried the flag on his wounded left shoulder and stood on a hill so the rest of the regiments could know which direction to charge. He was merely a private of low rank, but a General Gustafson carried him to a field hospital after the battle and it was near there were the charter was signed. Gustafson raised my forebearer's arm and helped him place his mark.
The Great Mural memorializing this momentous day stands over two hundred feet tall and even wider by some margins. You can see my forebearer on a stretcher with arm raised signing our family name. Each letter of our name taller than me standing before you. I am always reminded of this as I pass by the Mural in the City Center.
This always placed a prize on both my brother and my head as suitable bachelors and for a time I was enthralled in the embrace of one of the Adelaide sisters a young Matilda. It never lasted and she went on to marry someone of even better standing, a signatory 27. It was a good pairing and they genuinely loved each other. We paid our pleasantries at family gatherings and every Revolution Day.
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