My memory of my Dad
started at the age of four as he returned
home from World War II . I had never seen such a
tall man before.
Being 6 ft. tall, he looked like a giant to me. I
loved his big
booming voice and the way he reached out with his
arms and swung
me high up in the air.
My Birth Mother and Dad separated when I was a
baby and I was
reared ..or perhaps spoiled by my Paternal
Grandparents, and various
Aunts and Uncles. Everyone felt sorry for me as a
little 6 month
old to have her Daddy fighting in a foreign
country and a Mother
that was too young to accept the consequences and
responsibility
of a baby in her mid-teens.
I was doted on and given exclusive time and rights
to anything I
saw or wanted. This made me a very spoiled and
obnoxious little
brat-like child.
I quickly discovered at three and four years old,
that I could get
just about anything with tears and tantrums. No
one knew if my
Dad would survive his time in the Army and no one
wanted to
make me be good for fear of that very real
possibility.
My Daddy often shared his memory of that time and
how he was
always mindful of a little baby girl back home
that needed him.
He knew times were really hard then with little
food and even
less gasoline for a car to run on. So many things
were rationed
and folks had to use a ration coupon for any
purchases. My
Dad had a check sent from the Army for my care and
support.
Every month that the allotment check came was a
reprieve for
my family as this helped keep the hunger at bay a
little more.
My Dad told me that as he fought in Germany , he
was often
wet and very cold, but they still had to crawl on
their stomach
and keep their heads down nearly on the ground
while in enemy
territory. I was told there were times the bullets
were
whizzing directly over their heads and the sound
of tanks
mingled with large explosives were nearly
constant. It was
then that he would think of that 6 month old baby
girl that
he had left behind and that is what made him be
extra careful.
Fox holes often sheltered him and fellow soldiers
during the
long nights and mud was rubbed on their faces to
help keep the
enemy from seeing them as they moved onward.
I never really appreciated my Daddy's stories as I
grew up
except for the part of his love for me. I started
to understand
things better after having two children of my own.
Now as another 4th of July approaches, it is not
just a day of
picnics and fireworks. It is a time to show honor
to our country
and the men and women that fought in all wars that
we may
claim freedom and independence.
Dad always had the United States Of America Flag
hung proudly
on all days that were appropriate and now I fully
understand why.
There are more than 78,000 U.S. military still
unaccounted for
from WW II. I praise God for letting my Dad come
home to me.
With all my heart, I wish I could wrap my arms
around my
Daddy's neck once again and tell him thanks for
letting me be
born an American and for helping to keep America
free.
