Dance Like a Hula Girl, Laugh Like a Hero

Nobody Flashes: I was so busy today, sitting around the hospital waiting for my husband to go through all kinds of tests, that not until I got home and turned on the news did I realize it was Veteran’s Day. And there was Obama, being all patriotic...the man who just months ago refused to salute the flag, making a wonderful patriotic speech about all the men who gave their lives for our country.

Well, it’s about friggin time. Something tells me he’s going to need the military whether he wants to admit it publicly or not.

Anyway, I was cleaning up some old photos and I found this. It’s a picture that my dad sent to my mom before they were married, while he was stationed somewhere over in the Pacific. My guess is that it was taken in Hawaii before they shipped out to Guam.

I just have to laugh out loud every time I look at this picture because it’s obvious he thought this was going to charm the pants off my mom. Forget rose petals on the bed…my dad’s idea of seduction was a good jitterbug and a hop and a skip, and a big sailor’s grin, and well…I will say no more. I’m proof that his plan worked.

My dad was a Seebee…which was a precursor to the Seals. God, the man could swim, and dive--- with the grace of an eagle. The Seebees, he told me, did underwater mining work and they went in before the troops and put up all the “stuff.” He didn’t go into detail.

Anyway, my dad, his dad, and his brother all ran down and signed up the day after Pearl Harbor. He wasn’t old enough, and he lied about his age. I believe he told me he was sixteen. I don’t know how old he is in this picture, maybe eighteen. And right now, while looking at it, I can’t think of a better photo than this one to describe my dad’s easy-going, not a care in the world, personality.

This lone picture pretty much sums up the man. Life is short, so you might as well have a good time.

All throughout his life, dad had a smile on his face. Most of his life was spent playing golf, laughing, and having fun. It exasperated my mother to no end, because she was the biggest worrier this side of the second coming.

Of course, I’m just like her. My brother takes after my dad.

He also had the biggest laugh around. When I was a kid, I used to be so embarrassed to go to a movie with him, because everyone in the place was aware there was a nutcase sitting in the front row, whose laugh’s closely resembled a flock of twenty geese heading for home---that’s how loud he was.

And one day, a day he had shot a 67 on the back nine, he was in such a cheery mood--- I asked him about the war.

“So---What happened Dad? Were you in battle? What did you do?”

“We went in before the troops. We planted mines. I swam a lot.”

“Come on Dad, that doesn’t tell me a thing.”

“One night, me and my buddies got drunk on Sake”

“Well---so?”

“Our commander was so mad at us, that he made us go in and clean up the bodies off the beach the next morning. We had to pick up hundreds of body parts and put them in bags. It took us all day. I puked all over the island.”

“God, that had to have been terrible dad.”

“Yeah, especially when you’re finding the arms and legs of your best friends---that was hard. I had trouble finding all the pieces to my best friend Bobby. I never did find his legs.”

After this conversation, any complaints my mother had about my dad seemed minor. I figured he deserved to have the best time of his life forever. They really were a perfect match. Compared to what my father went through in the war, my mother was a cake walk.

I wish that I could have found out more about the war from both of them. The one thing they had in common was their hatred of MacArthur. My dad said not too many men who served overseas respected the man.

My father’s older brother Robert was killed at Midway. He never spoke about his older brother, but at the mention of his name, his face would go quiet…and his eyes would go glassy.

So, I suppose some day, some women much like myself on Veteran’s Day in the future, might dig up a funny photo sent by her dad to her mom. Sent from Iraq or Afghanistan, and she will wonder--- Did her father see his friends die? Did he have to hold them bleeding in his arms?

Did he pick up the pieces of his dead buddies body?

It’s hard to get those memories…she might never know.

Because that’s how they protect us…the fathers, the brothers, and now mothers and sisters…to keep us safe…they suffer the pain for us, they keep the horror of mankind quietly intact and put away…. it’s the ultimate sacrifice of love.

God bless them all---hero’s every one.

So….hmmm…Hey, I think I’m going to frame this picture and put it up where I can see it every day…I noticed lately that I’m laughing a lot more, out loud, in public…people are starting to stare.

Well Dad…it’s about frigging time…don’t you think?