BETWEEN THE STONES LIE THE STORIES
The mood on our “short bus” hauling a mixed bag of veterans around a military hospital was light with laughter and the inevitable silly stories of how we’d been whacked, dropped or crunched. The topic turned to places and times we’d served. The eldest of us was a gentleman with a shock of thin white hair over a lean, lined face lit with eyes the hue of well-washed denim. He had been smiling silently, occasionally clicking his prosthetic left “hand” on a metal rail. Both of his exposed ankles were plastic and steel. Someone asked gently where and when he had served.
Only as he leaned forward into the sunlight could we see the slashing scar almost hidden in the topography of his face, running from his hairline to his jaw.
“Just one day, boys,” he said. “Normandy. June 6, 1944.” His eyes glistened; perhaps a bit more moist than age had graced him with. Memories, I thought; the memories of one very long day.
-Heathen
Happy Veterans Day, Kenny and everyone else who sacrificed in order to keep us safe. May your days be happy and your souls remain free.
ReplyDeletepigpen51
Anyone who studies war has to be amazed at the men who served in WW2, fathers and uncles, and the country that trained them until they became soldiers. From every field and city, many who had never held a rifle or pistol in their lives, some who had never walked in woods and forests, yet they learned what it is to be a soldier.
ReplyDeleteA moving story...
ReplyDeleteTotal. Waste.
ReplyDeleteHad we not supported global Marxism, but instead our own people, where would we be today?
Captain, USMC
In 1944, Dad enlisted like all the other patriotic guys in school. He was sent to Camp Blanding where the powers that be informed him they didn't need him. It turned out his missing half-index finger was his trigger finger and the Army didn't believe he could perform the necessary tasks required of the military. Like many others, they underestimated him.
ReplyDeleteCrushed, he returned to Miami, determined to do something war-related so even though he was just 17, he worked after school driving heavy-duty vehicles hauling crushed rock and coral to Miami International Air Depot (MIAD) building runways for the Air Corps. Those runways still exist, a testament to those who gave more than required. Dad went to school, worked swing-shift, came home and did homework and went to bed around midnight where he got up the next morning and did the same thing. I have no idea where he found time to date Mom, but he did.
Not everyone who fought the Big One wore a uniform; my dad was one of those guys.
Good on your dad. He was bound and determined to contribute one way or another.
DeleteI wish as my years drone on that I had talked more with my Dad and uncles. All were veterans of WW2, my Dad on the 3rd assault wave on Omaha, an uncle in North Africa another in Burma. My Dads brother in England fixing C47's told me of the ones coming back full of flak holes. They all came home and lived their lives..had their families. I salute every one of our veterans. My service was easy, nothing like theirs. But I still wish I had sat down and he'd a few beers with these great men!
ReplyDeleteThank you for remembering, and thank you for your service.
ReplyDeleteGoddamn, I got something in my eye just now...
ReplyDeleteI appreciate each and every veteran for serving their country and every sacrifice they made.