Memorial Day

I was going to write about the 40 mile ride I did with my wife and son on Sunday, but it ended up being so weird and depressing that I may never ride a road bike again. Nothing to do with my companions, they were great, let's just say that right now I think other bike riders are worse than motorists.

So instead, here's a memorial for my Dad

His name was William, but everyone called him Bill,  and he died two years ago at 84.  This is a picture of him as a young man with his Aunt Em and me as  baby. The reason I would choose Memorial Day for this tribute is that he was in the Normandy invasion. He landed early on that day, not in the very first boats but in one of the waves that came in right behind. He was a Master Sargent infantryman attached to the armored division. Besides fighting, it was his job to repair tanks when they were damaged. He drove a Jeep, and carried a Thompson machine gun. He not only survived the day on the beach but fought, through the Battle of the Bulge, all the way to the end of the war.

As a boy, growing through childhood in the 50's and 60's I was fascinated by the war. My little friends and I would pretend to be soldiers as we ran through the fields and woods of upstate New York. But I learned when I was very young that my Dad would not talk to me about his experiences in the war. I remember meeting his good friend from the army, Peter. Peter was missing a leg from being machine gunned by a German tank while driving his Jeep. And that was the extent of what I knew. I never pressed him to talk about it, he was a very private and reserved man. In the years that I lived with him, I never saw the man drunk, never saw him "go out with the boys", never heard him speak harshly to my mother. He always held a good job (he was an engineer), provided for his family and took good care of the home we lived in. I also have to say that I cannot remember the man ever telling me that he loved me, or hugging me. But I knew that he showed his love by living his life right, and taking care of us all.

When I started seeing the woman who is now my wife, I brought her back east to meet my mom and dad. They had moved to Connecticut in 1968 and lived there until their deaths. My dad, to my surprise, took an immediate liking to my wife. Over the years that followed, our marriage, the birth of the kids, buying a house, they made a couple of trips out here, and we took every vacation back there. The relationship between my dad and my wife became a real friendship. Now, I attribute this to my wife's personality. She is very pretty and happy and was exceptionally kind to my dad as he got older. It was very obvious to me how much he grew to love her as the years went by. I spoke to my folks every weekend on the phone, and he never failed to ask about her and say how wonderful she was. And, of course, she would often get on to speak to him also.

The result of this friendship was that he opened up to her in conversations about things that he never spoke about before. As he got into his 70's, he would drink brandy in the afternoons. When we'd be there for a visit, he'd sit and talk with my wife, and soon started talking about the war. He told about arriving at the concentration camps, about coming into the bombed out German cities and seeing the starving, naked people and the death everywhere. He talked about the blood and death on the beach in Normandy. And as he'd talk he'd start to weep. It was incredibly moving to see how powerful these 50 year old memories were to him. It was a side of my dad I'd never seen before. I started hugging him, whenever I'd see him. He'd draw back in surprise when I first did it, trying to shake my hand instead. But, eventually, he'd allow it, reluctantly at first, but after a while, I think he might have liked it.

I have tears in my eyes as I'm writing this. I am so grateful to my wife for making it possible to see this side of my dad before he died.

So, next memorial Day, or even sooner, go get a copy of "Saving Private Ryan" and sit down with your kids and watch it. Talk to them about the incredible bravery and dedication of those men who threw themselves into death to preserve freedom. Better yet, if you have the time, rent "Band of Brothers" and watch it a bit at a time. Pay particular attention to the interviews, before and after each segment, with the men who actually experienced this moment in history. If you aren't moved to your core, well, you and I are very different people.

I am not a religious person (neither was my dad), but when I see the kind of sacrifice these men were willing to make, it gives me hope that there may be good in mankind. It makes me want to believe in God.

Comments

[George]

Wow.

Powerful stuff.

Thanks for writing that.

[Jane]

What a moving tribute! My father landed in Normandy, also. Unfortunately my dad died at age 58 (the age I am now) and we didn't have many really meaningful converstations about the war.

I know quite a bit about where he was and what he did--he did payroll, etc., for an evacuation hospital--but his feelings about leaving his wife and little baby--all the emotions--I was just beginning to understand when he died.

He did become friends with a young Dutch girl and her family. Anny attended school in the building where his hospital was temporarily set up.

Anny is our dear family friend, has been to visit us in Illinois twice, and calls 3 or 4 times a year.

I hear of the war from her viewpoint--her heart full of so much gratitude to the soldiers who saved them.

God bless them--weren't they great!

[nathan]

Wives are great for that, aren't they? You think you know something about a family member or that you shouldn't ask but she'll ask away and you learn it.

Great post - thanks for sharing.

Peace.

[Doug.Smith]

A great tribute including the memories of WW2 to think I was a young lad of 14 years when the war ended and I remember clearly many of those American soldiers here in the UK who made the sarifice that we may live in peace.
Doug Smith
North Dorset
UK