My father was a 16 year old kid trying to find his next meal during (or at the end of) The Great Depression. The country was just starting it’s recovery from that event but most working class hadn’t felt any relief as yet. He’s told me, but I don’t remember the exact date he enlisted in the Navy to go fight the war. I believe he had to wait until he was 17, which would have been the next month on January 20th.
Dad would serve as a Radioman on board the USS San Jacinto where LTJG George H. W. Bush would serve as a torpedo plane pilot. And he would eventually come home at the end of the war and settle in Miami.
Dad started a few restaurants, (bars), owned a gas station, but eventually went to work for the Federal Aviation Agency where he would ultimately retire after 32 years of service.
I asked my dad one time, why he was so quick to join the military at the start of the war. I’ve received a couple of answers, “all the kids were joining!”, “we wanted to beat the Japs”. I suspect it may have been both. But the underlying reason was to eat.
I was following my Twitter Feed today and saw a post come across about December 7, 1941. I clicked and read the article.
The author, Alan Caruba, a self described “Longtime internet and mainstream commentator”, brought out something that I had never given a thought.
He states (my emphasis added):
In Hawaii, when I rode out to visit the USS Arizona memorial in Pearl Harbor, the thing I noticed was that I was sharing the ferry with dozens of Japanese tourists. It had never occurred to me that it was, of course, part of their history as well. I recall their pausing before the wall with the names of the sailors still entombed below to offer prayers for them. That is what peace is all about.
And like Mr. Caruba, it never occurred to me that this was as much a part of Japan’s history as it was ours. It was a bit of a shock to think of it in that respect.
While I of course came into this world some 15 years after the end of the war and 19 years after December 7th, 1941; it would be impossible for me to relate any memories of the war. I can only relate stories of my father and some of his friends.
I can re-tell the stories of Kamakazis raining out of the sky. Ships floating off the port or starboard side of their ships in flames. Men dying. War is ugly, horrible.
I grew up during Vietnam. Which had no definite start, and arguably had an end date. I grew up watching the news in the evenings with my dad. KNOWING when I turned 18, I would be there. And surprised at around 14 when there were no more news reports of NVA, Viet Cong, Khmer Rouge or other factions rolling across our television. I didn’t hear “Cambodia”, or Da Nang, or Saigon mentioned any more. Though I did continue to hear about Hanoi Jane, who I still refer to as such today.
My father, above all else in this world is a patriot. He loves this country. So do I.
My father is proud of our military members. So am I.
So today, on the anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, take a moment and remember the men and women who died that day. The ones who paid a price over the next 4 years. And the sacrifices this country made over the next 4 years in support of those men and women who would serve.
Think about rationing. Think about “the war effort”. Think about what each person who was here did during those years. The lives that were given stateside in support. My mother who was seriously injured manufacturing munitions. The others who were injured or killed getting war materials to our troops.
Just take a second out of your day and remember, that 67 years ago we were attacked and we responded. Not just the military. The entire country responded. They responded as they HAVE NOT responded since.
I honestly believe that this country is incapable of responding in the way we did for World War II. God forbid you have to give something up in support of the war effort. Our precious perks are not worth the war.
Yes, I am a patriot. I love our country. But sometimes it makes me sick to think of where we have come. Our selfishness.
