Thank you, for everything, and I’m really sorry you never felt like you could tell me the stories.
I would have listened.
I would have loved you.
Posted on November 11, 2016 1 Comment
My Dad told stories…when pressed. And he carried a Kodak Brownie through most of his time in the European theater. So we had lots of pictures to look at, too.
But he didn’t get really serious about it until the time around the 50th anniversary of WWII, and that anniversary of D-Day. He really started to open up then. Especially about the difficulty he had coming home.
I learned a lot about war from him before he died.
I learned a lot about him after he died.
It’s hard for me to say, “Thanks, Dad.” Even though there’s a degree of obligatory appreciation that needs to be recognized…given the totality of the circumstances. He never really abandoned me. He could have. Maybe he should have. But he didn’t. So maybe I owe him some debt of gratitude for that.
But…I think…I’ll leave that for now in the Past Due pile with the rest.
He was a good soldier. though. And he had the medals to prove it.
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