Remembering Dad

On Memorial Day I sat in front of a board full of military medals, a folded American flag in a presentation box and a picture of my dad reflecting upon memories of what he had done and contributed to my freedom, and that of my wife and daughter.

By physical stature he was not a very big man.  His weight varied from year to year and his hair color changed with the seasons of life.  As a kid I remember him as a 5’8” giant with a ruddy complexion, wavy reddish blond hair and weighing generally around 160 pounds.  His commitment to right and wrong was unwavering.

He really was not very handy around the house, as a matter of memory.  It was we three boys, (my brothers and me) who took care of the dog, most of the outdoor household chores like mowing the grass, washing the car, painting the fence and shoveling the walks, and even dishes and vacuuming when my mother needed help.  Then again if it weren’t for my dad, would we boys have know what to do and when?

Evidently his talents were not of musical, fine or literary art in nature.  Nor was he a star athlete, politician of businessman.  I remember stories my mother related about his having to drop out of school during the depression to help support his family.  My Mother told me how inadequate he felt and that he finished his formal education while in the military.  His Mother died when he was nine.  He, his sisters and brothers were farmed out to various family relations by his father who I never met until after I was twenty-one and married, and purposely I might add.

From all accounts related to me over the years there was not much of a childhood for my father or his siblings as we in 2012 imagine childhood to be.  I remember him crying while talking on the phone during the time we were stationed in England in the early fifties.  I know now that my aunts had some childhood physical and physiological issues to deal with.  My father was haunted until the day he died that he was not able to change what had been done and what they had to deal with.

It may have been guilt for having escaped the conditions at home that the military afforded him while his brothers and sisters had to deal with the situation.  According to my Mom, he lied about his age in order to join the Army Air Core.  He found in the military what he could not find at home after his Mom died.  From what I was told the Air Force separated from the Army shortly after his enlistment.

While growing up it was always understood the Air Force came first and family matters beyond my Mother’s capability came somewhere afterwards.  Of course my Mother was a depression child as well, knowing how to survive and deal with what life presented her.  My Mother and we children never questioned that policy.  I lived with my Mom and Dad until I was 18 years old and then it was my turn to deal with life.

I have my Dad’s medals referencing involvement in three wars; WWII, Korea and South East Asia.  My Dad died in 1985 at the age of 54, never having related any of his war stories to me.  Anything I have learned about his service I have learned from others.  I know he was a Chief Master Sergeant in the United States Air Force, with, amongst others, a Bronze Star, a meritorious Service Medal and an Air Force Commendation Medal for Distinguished Service.

I knew him as my Dad, not Chief or Chief Red Face Same Hat, a handle bestowed upon him along with a contract on his head by the enemy. I wish I would have known him longer but, that wasn’t in the cards.  The chemicals he inhaled meant to expose and kill the enemy and those he continually inhaled during refueling eventually bested him.  He died loving what he was born to do, defending this Country and making life more promising for his prodigy, which now includes my daughter, whom he never met.  Memorial Day, Veteran’s Day and Fathers Day are special to me and I know I am not alone.