My Father

(This is a bit late – actually my Facebook post for Father’s Day this Year)

Mother’s Day this year has come and gone, though in some ways every day should be Mother’s Day. But that aside, before I comment on Father’s Day, I want to affirm that children of all ages love and honor their fathers; from my three year old grand-niece who loves her daddy beyond measure, to older children, and teenage boys and girls, to adults young, and not so young.

But I am going to speak of my father and his generation. Known, rightly I think, as The Greatest Generation, these survivors of the depression went on to serve, by the millions, in a war they wanted no part of, but went anyway because it was the right thing to do. “A dirty job that had to be done”, as the saying went at the time.

Growing up in the shadow of that war, I could never lose sight of the fact that these were the guys who had stormed the beaches, who experienced horrendous naval battles, or survived terrifying flak and enemy fighters of the air war, or fought in the dense, rotting jungles of the South Pacific, or had defended their ships from swarms of kamikazes, or huddled near frozen in a foxhole while German artillery blew apart the world around them. And STILL emerged victorious.

And after fighting to secure the peaceful environment which we, the children of the baby boom took for granted, they managed somehow to put it behind them (or at least keep it out of sight) and came home to a new and better life. And they came home to be our Dads. And to teach us to throw a ball, or catch a fish, or turn a wrench, and how to act, and how to grow up and be a good person. And it was Dad, along with Mom of course, who was the foundation, and the epicenter of our world as we did so.

So on this Father’s Day saying Thanks seems like not nearly enough. I love you Dad, I miss you still, and I owe you everything.

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