There will be parades to mark Memorial Day, war movies will be playing on the TV, and many family members and friends will journey to graves to honor their fallen loved ones. It is a tradition each year that we stop and, no matter how we feel about the politics involved, we remember the soldiers who died while doing their duty. They had courage most of us do not have, and they possessed a sense of purpose to go forward into the mayhem and turmoil of war, perhaps even knowing they weren't coming home.
When my father was drafted in 1942, Bobby would see him come home for a visit wearing his uniform. At 15 years old he was in awe of my Dad, the great smile and glowing freckled face indicating that he was happy to see him but also proud that he knew him. He asked Dad questions about the Army, and Dad did not sugarcoat the experience. He explained about the realities of boot camp and the impending prospect of going overseas. None of this seemed to faze Bobby or make him think that Dad was anything but a superhero.
Well, Dad went off to war, going over to Europe on the Aquitania. He landed in Scotland and took a 20-hour train ride down to the English Channel. Like so many others he went over to France and fought in the war. Eventually he was stationed in the chateau in Fontainebleau, and since his expertise was demolitions, he was kept very busy coordinating the disarming and disposal of unexploded bombs that littered the countryside.
Article comments
1 - Jim Vivanco
Such a touching story! May we never forget those who lost thier lives in the service of our country!
2 - Igor
Ah, but what a sweet and glorious thing it is to die for your country!
DULCE ET DECORUM EST by WILFRED OWEN
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of tired,
outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!---An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.