Veteran's Day Tribute

I was born into the situation, so I grew up giving little thought to the sacrifice that my family made during World War II.  All of the men in the family in my parent’s generation served in the military and were overseas simultaneously.

Uncle Frank, my Mother’s oldest brother (second from right in picture) was shot by a German sniper and came home with a metal plate holding the bone in his upper arm together.  My Mother had awakened in a cold sweat having heard him call her name and say, “I’ve been shot.”  Communications were slow, so it was weeks later when they learned it was true.  When Uncle Frank returned from Europe, he discovered that his wife had been having an affair with her boss.  She took off with their son.

Uncle Chuck , my Mother’s  middle brother, (first on left) spent time in France and was the only one who came home more or less unscathed by the conflict.  After the war, he enlisted in the Air Force and made a career of “flying a desk.”  He is buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

Uncle Art, my Mother’s youngest brother, (far right) was deployed to Africa and came home with malaria.  He had periodic relapses for years.

Uncle Roy, my Dad’s brother (center) had no physical wounds.  As a conscientious objector, he served on a hospital ship in the Pacific.  He is 90 now and recently admitted to me that he discovered on the ship that he was capable of killing someone.  A patient tried to get out of a tub to attack a nurse.  Uncle Roy pushed his head under the water.  He came up struggling, still intending to harm the nurse.  Uncle Roy pushed him under again.  He said, “About the third time I pushed his head under water, I realized that I could kill him, if I had to do it to protect the nurse.”

My Dad (second from left) spent time in France.  He tripped a landmine, but came away with no injuries other than a ruptured eardrum.  I was born while he was in France.  He told me that the day of my birth was the last day anyone actually shot at him.  We did not meet each other until I was 7 months old.

During the war, my Mother and I lived with her parents.  As each of her brothers returned, they moved in with her parents too.  It took time for men to find civilian jobs and re-establish themselves, so I had the delight of being a little girl in a house full of men who doted on me.  I was spoiled rotten.  My Mother couldn’t wait to get me in a more normal setting. 

Today is Veteran’s Day, and I am thinking of my family and how difficult those years must have been not only for the men in the conflict, but for the family at home.  They “soldiered on” and not only survived, but made a better life for my generation.  I am grateful.