A person can forget a lot in 65 years. But, I think, some things are never forgotten.
Today in my tiny hometown of Peterborough, I watched as my dad marched in the Memorial Day Parade for the first time in, well, 65 years. There was a special ceremony for the WWII veterans and we urged him to go. Reluctantly he agreed, but he refused to wear any uniform or the Bronze Star he earned in Burma. The only hint of military service was a ball cap with the Merrill’s Marauders emblem.
He also refused to ride the parade route. He walked. Proud and strong. He always said that he had done enough walking for the army. But, at the 89, he did one more march.
That's Dad on the Left
I look at the photos and my eyes see a bunch of old men. But when I stand near them, I am aware of their greatness. It is the virtue of simple men who have done extraordinary deeds. Indeed, they did answer the call. None of them asked for it nor did they shy away or even question why they went. Most of these men, like my father, went off to the war that was the defining event of their lives. Then they came home and simply got on with their lives. As best they could, they put it behind them.
Often over the years I have wondered what it was like for my dad in the jungles of Burma. What did it feel like for that young man to be so far from home in such a strange land? How do you stand up to the fear, the fighting, disease, hunger, fatigue and the loss? Does a man assess his mortality, his courage or his strength in the quiet fearful moments?
I am certain that if I were to ever ask these questions he would say, simply, that you have no other choice. You keep going. Keep fighting. And do your duty. You don’t think about it. His quiet resolve is his strength.
Men of Greatness: WWII Veterans Memorial Day 2010
There was a moment today as a speaker read off the stories of the men from our little town who died in the war all those years ago. A young woman was playing “Amazing Grace” softly on the violin. The crowd was hushed and attentive. I think we all could picture each of the men whose story was told. I felt a powerful surge of pride, honor, humility, respect and most off all, tremendous appreciation for these old men who gave so much so long ago. Each man seated there was, for one moment, a great giant of mankind. Each one was a hero of epic achievement. Every one of them deserved more than we could ever give back and none of them asked for anything. Then the moment passed. The speaker finished and the old men stood, shook hands and walked off quietly.
So well put Dave. You and I have discussed this before…the real heroes never talk about what they did.