This one's gonna be somber folks, so if you don't need that kind of thing, you might want to skip this one.
It was my Dad's Birthday yesterday. He's all the way back in Oregon, but we spoke for awhile. He said that on his birthday he likes to think about what the world was like when he came into it. He told me that while his mom was pregnant with my him, Pearl Harbor happened. My dad's father, who I didn't really know, spent three years in the military, but never spoke of it.
My dad went on to say that when his grandmother was a young woman, she left Missouri with a small group of people, and even though there was a wagon, she walked most of the way to Texas. A family legend I never heard before. There's a lot about my family I don't know about (It's not that there are secrets, it's just that I haven't learned everything).
Some things I do know about both my grandfathers is they were in the middle of some of the most intense fighting in World War II. My dad's father actually landed at Normandy on D-Day. He was a medic and he wasn't part of the very first wave to set foot on the beaches, but you didn't have to be to get shot all the same.
My mother's father was involved in the retaking of Rome (the 88th Artillary, I think). My mom has done some reading and found out the battle was much bloodier than my grandfather had led her to believe. I looked over some photocopies of letters he sent to my grandmother during that time. They spoke of spending all day and night shelling the opposition. And when they advanced, there were a lot of "dead Germans" scattered acros the land.
The main reason I got to thinking about this is becuase of something that happened Saturday night. I went out with a few of my friends and had to stop by the Moondance Cafe to get money from the ATM there. I was very drunk at this point, but when i was waiting at the ATM, I spotted Saturday's New York Post which had a big picture on the cover of Pat Tillman, the one-time Cardinal's Quarterback who recently died in Iraq while serving for the Special Forces. For a moment, I felt so awful about being out and having a good time, I almost cried. Granted, alcohol can make your emotions run rampant, but I still think about it, and I know that I'll always remember that moment, just like I'll always remember that name. Many other soldiers have died, but at the moment, PAt Tillman is the face of the war.
All this makes me think about fate. After something happens, people acknoledge that it did, and either dwell on it or move on. A soldier dies, we mourn them. The past is past.
I just couldn't help but wonder, what if things had turned out differently and my grandparent's hadn't made it through?
All I can say is, I'm glad they did.
It was my Dad's Birthday yesterday. He's all the way back in Oregon, but we spoke for awhile. He said that on his birthday he likes to think about what the world was like when he came into it. He told me that while his mom was pregnant with my him, Pearl Harbor happened. My dad's father, who I didn't really know, spent three years in the military, but never spoke of it.
My dad went on to say that when his grandmother was a young woman, she left Missouri with a small group of people, and even though there was a wagon, she walked most of the way to Texas. A family legend I never heard before. There's a lot about my family I don't know about (It's not that there are secrets, it's just that I haven't learned everything).
Some things I do know about both my grandfathers is they were in the middle of some of the most intense fighting in World War II. My dad's father actually landed at Normandy on D-Day. He was a medic and he wasn't part of the very first wave to set foot on the beaches, but you didn't have to be to get shot all the same.
My mother's father was involved in the retaking of Rome (the 88th Artillary, I think). My mom has done some reading and found out the battle was much bloodier than my grandfather had led her to believe. I looked over some photocopies of letters he sent to my grandmother during that time. They spoke of spending all day and night shelling the opposition. And when they advanced, there were a lot of "dead Germans" scattered acros the land.
The main reason I got to thinking about this is becuase of something that happened Saturday night. I went out with a few of my friends and had to stop by the Moondance Cafe to get money from the ATM there. I was very drunk at this point, but when i was waiting at the ATM, I spotted Saturday's New York Post which had a big picture on the cover of Pat Tillman, the one-time Cardinal's Quarterback who recently died in Iraq while serving for the Special Forces. For a moment, I felt so awful about being out and having a good time, I almost cried. Granted, alcohol can make your emotions run rampant, but I still think about it, and I know that I'll always remember that moment, just like I'll always remember that name. Many other soldiers have died, but at the moment, PAt Tillman is the face of the war.
All this makes me think about fate. After something happens, people acknoledge that it did, and either dwell on it or move on. A soldier dies, we mourn them. The past is past.
I just couldn't help but wonder, what if things had turned out differently and my grandparent's hadn't made it through?
All I can say is, I'm glad they did.
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My great uncle fought in WWII (both grandfathers were too old, and had kids). He was a cargo plane pilot in the Italian theater until someone in the military got edgy about having Italian-American troops (that part of the family is 100% Italian) fighting Italians, so he got moved to the Philippines where he finished out the rest of the war. He gave me this unbelievably amazing chess set he bought in Japan after it was over - i'll have to show it to you some time, every piece is hand carved in samurai style, the white pieces are all ivory, the black are all teak. Pretty cool stuff.
My father fought in Vietnam too, until a wayward piece of shrapnel took out one of his eyes and he got a medical discharge. Crazy stuff - makes you appreciate how lucky we are that they decided to get rid of the draft, otherwise it would be you and me in Iraq right now.
My dad's blind in one eye so he missed Vietnam, but my grandfather fought in the second World War (and that's hardcore, as he was Swedish and they signed up to go in on a strictly volunteer basis).
[Edited on Apr 29, 2004 6:14AM]