» Veterans Day
Every Veterans Day is a day to remember my father, who served in the U.S. Marines in WWII. He was 20 years old when he was drafted. He mostly saw action in the Philippines and was also sent to China for a time. I have pictures of my father on the Great Wall of China, and also a piece of silk with a dragon embroidered on it he brought back and ended up with me. Dad saw horrible things during the war, and never spoke about it very much at all. But he was always very proud to be a Marine.
From my father’s stories I began to realize that historical accounts, whether of an event or conflict, often didn’t reflect the stories men and women told who had been on the battlefields or the aftermath. Or, the effect of war and its mayhem on the people on the ground both inside and outside. My father, who I would say was a pretty brave guy, could not sleep without a light for several years after getting home, and until the day he died at 67 he needed to have a radio on to fall asleep at night. He thought this came from doing guard duty in complete darkness and silence, with the knowledge a lot of Marines had their throats cut walking the same perimeters.
He returned home to Elizabeth, New Jersey as an amputee. Since he lost his right hand during the war, his dream to be a commerical fisherman was over, and he had to make another living. He also had to learn to write with his left hand. Dad went to Rutgers University on the G. I. Bill and became in English teacher. At some point he acquired his father’s pen, which was a dip pen in a black bakelite inkwell. Dad used this all through his decades of teaching to grade papers and write comments. I never saw him use anything but burgundy ink. When I was little I would stand by his desk and try to very carefully write my name with the pen and ink I thought was so grownup.
When my father passed away–20 years ago this month–at his behest I received his college ring and the pen set. They are among my most treasured possessions. The pen is on my writing desk, so it’s always in view as I write or ponder. In honor of my father I never use anything in it but burgundy ink.
Today is the day to remember–and to thank–all the veterans who have served our country with honor and courage. There was sacrifice involved on many levels, sacrifice that can often not be undone or healed. To all the veterans who read or participate on this blog, a special thanks to you, and I hope you feel our admiration and respect.
Comments
Thanks for sharing such a personal story. Remembrance Day in the UK (11th Nov) is a day to remember my Mother in Law, who died in September.
She served as a corporal in the ATS (Auxilliary Territorial Service) during World War II, being amongst the first group of women to be posted overseas at the beginning of the war.
Serving in Algiers, she ran a NAAFI canteen for the troops along with eight other women – when they arrived none of them had summer uniforms and had to have them made locally at their own expense!
The canteen followed British & Allied forces through North Africa then into Italy, where Mother in Law came under fire and was bombed on more than one occasion. I remember her telling me about the American GIs she met in Italy – she had fond memories of them.
It was also in Italy she met her future husband, an engineer who, it turned out, had lived a couple of streets away from her back home – they’d actually played together as children!
She ended up in Austria by the end of the war, but wasn’t posted home till six months after the Armistice, at which point she had a good telling off from her mother, who had wondered why Mother in Law’s husband had come home before her; she’d had to stay on to keep the canteen running for the troops involved in the aftermath of the war.
Mother in Law was a wonderful woman, though she remained uncomfortable around loud noises as a result of her experiences – she had an abiding loathing of fireworks.
Today I remember and pay tribute to her and all the allied troops who fought, both those who paid the ultimate price and those who came home.
A beautiful remembrance. It’s humbling to think about the burdens our veterans have borne on our behalf. It reminds me of the last lines of King Lear: “The oldest hath borne most: we that are young/Shall never see so much, nor live so long.”
My dad was US Army Air Force, then Air Force after 1948. My mom was Army Signal Corps. They didn’t meet until 1947. I grew up an Air Force brat, then served active duty Air Force myself. Oddly enough, the man I’m seeing turns out to have been Air Force in his country’s services and we both have war time service in our countries’ conflicts. Makes it easy to decompress as we understand each other’s stressors.
That is a beautiful story.I can barely see to type through my tears.
And here is something I always say on Veteran’s Day–and after Fort Hood, it is especially significant this year:
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
–”For the Fallen,” by Laurence Binyon
Thank you for sharing this story.
It isn’t easy talking about our parents after they’ve gone. We have to reel in our desire to have them here with us so we don’t break down–even when what we remember makes us smile. It took great courage and love to write what you did and it is incredibly beautiful. Your father’s resilience, the mark of his red ink and the mark he made on you is unforgetable.
My father was in the army during the Korean conflict. He was stationed in Germany and did not see combat. He did, however, do some intelligence work because he spoke German and was stationed in Schweinfurt. My father always looked back on his time in the army with great respect and love. He was indebted to American soldiers who rescued him from Auschwitz and his proudest moment was when he became an American citizen in the Army; his witness was an American Indian. I look forward to finding that document one day. I’m sure I’ll see his smile in the cursive of his signature.
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