- Pronouns
- He/Him
Memorial Day
May 31st 2021
By Olde Delaware
As a long time citizen of Euro, there are things that just never change. A rousing, inspiring and witty speech from the Chancellery before an election, making fun of HEM for wearing Jorts, gratuitously bird jokes to Lloen and me writing about the military.
Every now and then ill post an Order of Battle, which is the way a military may position itself on the battlefield or post a tweet about a distant battle and someone will ask me why I am the way I am or how did I get involved in stuff like this and it always brings back a ton of great memories. One of which I am willing to share today.
I've talked often about my mom but my dad not so much. My dad passed away in 2003 from injuries sustained during Operation Desert Storm or the 1st Gulf War. My dad served as a Quartermaster for the 736th Supply and Service Battalion, 22nd Sustainment Brigade. He had previous service, serving from 1964 to 1968 as a Tanker and then from 1980 to 2000 in the National Guard which was where he was when his guard unit was activated. I was 3 years old when my dad shipped out to the Gulf on December 25th 1990.
When he came home, it was in a wheelchair and it was 18 months before he was able to walk and not sleep in a hospital bed. My dad went to war a strong man and come home a broken one but he made an effort every day to serve and give back to his fellow veterans. He was involved in the American Legion before the war and became very active in both the DAV or Disabled American Veterans and the VFW or the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
The latter organization is the reason for today's story.
My dad with all of his ills and his problems never spoke about his time overseas. Occasionally he'd talk about his time on a temporary assignment to Bremerhaven or back before Vietnam but never Desert Storm. My dad always woke up at 5am, didn't matter if he was up with my mom or playing cards with friends and came home at 3am. He was up at 5. Making coffee, reading the paper. I always wanted to be like dad, so sometimes Id get up that early and just poke my head down and watch him. But on memorial day things were different, he'd always put some coffee in a travel mug and he'd go out before dawn and come back.
One time he spotted me and he just tussled my hair and sent me back to bed and told me I would understand when I was older.
The year I turned 10 is when I understood.
My dad woke me up at 7am and told me to get dressed. We got into the truck, I asked him where we were going. He didn't say anything but then I saw it in the back of the truck. A box of flags. We pulled up to our local cemetery and drove around to a small area about the size of a front yard. My dad put on his VFW cap and asked me to get out a nice armful of flags. There were about 35 or 40 headstones in this little section and he point out how to mount them in the ground and to not step on the stones.
Some were faded, some were almost brand new. World War I, World War II, a couple of Vietnam ones. One that was tucked under some brush near the fence, a forgotten person but not by my dad. My dad always placed one there personally and with all of his strength, got down on bad knees and cleared that stone with his own hands. Making sure it got a flag and some kind words before moving on to the next one. Only when we were done did I muster up the courage to ask my dad why we were doing this, wasn't this someone else's job?
My dad responded with words I remember to this day. He told me "Mike, remembering those who died to protect us is everyone's job. This is the cost of freedom."
Those words have stuck with me through my entire life.
People who are willing to serve, put their life on the line to do a job that pays too little for the work that they do deserve our utmost respect and the thanks of a grateful nation.
My dad and I were always close but those trips on Memorial Day and Veterans Day somehow seemed to make us even closer. It was after the tradition began that my dad would open up a little. Never too much. We would do more "adult" things, he would take me with him to the VA, on post to the PX or to get some pizza or shop at the commissary at New Castle, Dover or Meade or Andrews. Trips to Aberdeen to see the Ordinance Museum. We'd talk for hours about the military, dawn to dark, watch old movies.
It was the best time of my life.
As I said earlier in this piece, talking about the military even today brings back great memories of things long since passed. It's probably why I talk about it as much as I do. I feel as if talking about it it someway brings back memories of my dad sitting there, coffee in hand, reading the paper and laughing at the funnies. Car trips to places, pointing out cool license plates, etc. Just great memories with my old man.
So when you see me rambling on about force projection in some country or posting a link to what's going on today in the world, know that I am not doing it to bore or annoy. It's just helping me remember my old man and what he and others like him did for me and sacrificed to keep our country safe.
