HI Dan, Thank you. This was a lovely tribute to fathers, and although, our stories are very different, you brought to mind many warm, and loving memories. Being a woman, my father was my first love. In many ways he taught me how to love a man. He was a great guy, and a great story teller.
You and your stories, are very special. Marsha On Jun 19, 2011, at 1:23 PM, Dan Glover wrote: > Hello everyone > > On Sun, Jun 19, 2011 at 3:55 AM, MarshaV <[email protected]> wrote: >> >> >> Happy Fathers day to the MD fathers. > > Thank you, Marsha. > > One constant in life, at least in my life, is loss. As a son, I've > lost a father. And as a father, I've lost a son. So for me, today is a > reminder of both what is and what could have been. You asked for a > story. Here is one just for you: > > Father's Day Requiem > > I was born in 1955 and grew up during the 60's, tumultuous times. I > was too young to be a hippie and born too late to be part of my dad's > generation. He fought the Japanese during WWII in the islands, and > came home to tell us kids many stories. Years later, my step-mother > confided that he never talked to her about the war but that he still > had nightmares about it and often awoke screaming. > > My wife Yoli's family were very close, not at all like mine. When her > family wanted to convey intense emotions, they touched and hugged each > other. When my family wanted to convey intense emotions, they yelled > and struck out at each other. I wanted very much to be part of her > family. > > When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, my dad was 17 years old. He talked his > mother into signing the papers so that he could join the Marines. My > dad was never one for education; he dropped out of high school to > fight the good fight and never went back. He believed in work, not > schooling. > > I was raised in a rural community. My dad and step mother were > children of the Depression. They expected us boys work from an early > age. I worked alongside migrant workers from Mexico every summer: > hoeing beans, de-tasseling corn, picking strawberries and asparagus, > baling hay, anything that paid a few bucks. Most all the migrants I > worked with spoke no English at all. Listening to them talk, I > gradually picked up their language quite naturally and over the years > grew to speak it fluently. > > My dad was sent to Guadalcanal, Saipan, Leyte, Tinian, and a half > dozen other islands no one ever heard of before or since. His unit was > the first one into battle. My dad's company started out with one > hundred and eighty men; only two survived the end of the war. Two! Can > you imagine? My dad was wounded three times and sent back when he > recovered sufficiently. He carried pieces of shrapnel in his body > until the day he died. > > We had a secret to share. Yoli had just discovered she was going to > have our baby. She was only seventeen. I was a year older. We were > stupid kids but we were going to get married and raise out baby > together. We were going to be a family. I didn't expect the news to go > over well but I never expected it to go the way it did either. > > On Saipan, my dad told us about how the Japanese held out in a > concrete block bunker with slots cut for them to shoot out of. The men > in my dad's squad took turns every day lobbing their ration of hand > grenades at those slots, hoping one would go into a slot and kill the > Japanese inside to end the holdout. > > When Yoli invited me to dinner that year, I didn't want to say yes but > I couldn't say no. She'd already introduced me to her family and it > hadn't gone as well as it could have. I had worn some old blue jeans > with holes in them that day. I'd been working outdoors. But that's no > excuse. So. After introductions, the first thing Pete said was: > "Yolanda, why don't you take Dan to your brother's room. Maybe he's > got a pair of pants Daniel can borrow." > > Every night, one of the Japanese would call out: "Roosevelt eats > shit!" And directly, one the marines would call back: "Tojo eats > shit!" The shouting went on all night long. That's how close they were > to each other... close enough not only to hurl grenades but insults as > well. > > As dinner progressed it soon became clear to me that it wasn't the men > who wore the pants in this family. It appeared so at first glance, but > watching the family dynamics unfold at the table, I soon understood > how mistaken I was. The men were full of bluster and fury but when a > woman spoke, the men all turned into children, seeking only to please. > > One day, a buddy of my dad managed to succeed in the task. But the > bunker must have been filled with large quantities of explosives. The > grenade resulted in a huge explosion, hurtling huge chunks of concrete > high into the air. One of those chucks hit his buddy in the face. When > my dad found him, his face was completely flat. > > Dinner lasted three hours. It was fabulous, especially to a kid who > ate cold Spaghettios out of a tin can with the top still attached. We > had agreed to wait until after dinner to make the announcement. Dinner > was so good I nearly forgot. But as we finished the last of the > dessert courses and people started to stir, Yoli rose and spoke. > Everyone sat down and listened to her intently. I got up and stood > beside her. > > The boy asked for a cigarette, which my dad lit and placed to his > mangled lips, holding it so the boy could draw on it. Then the boy > died. A medic happened by a few minutes later and told my dad there > was no way a man could survive a wound like that. My dad said he > didn't argue with the medic. But he knew what he knew. > > Her mother seemed to know what Yoli was going to say before she said > it. She said nothing; she just sat there dabbing at the corners of her > mascara-streaked eyes with a balled up napkin. Her father came up to > me and looked me in the eyes. I thought he was going to hug me but > instead he caught me with a roundhouse kidney punch that took all the > strength out of my knees and made it hard to catch my breath for a few > moments. > > On Iwo Jima, they ate grasshoppers and beetles. There wasn't any clean > water to drink. The military saw fit to invade the island with no > logistical support at all... the Japanese burrowed into caves all over > the island, fighting over every square foot of that island as if it > meant something. Fierce and fearless is how he described them. The > Americans took very few prisoners; most of the Japanese soldiers died > fighting, or killed themselves when it became apparent the battle was > lost. > > Yoli was expected to marry a boy from a very well to do family who > lived in the old country. She once told me that she'd met the boy only > briefly when they were both five years old and that in her family such > marriages were the rule rather than the exception. She told me - in > the old country, and even in the here and now - such marriages were > accepted ways for families, especially very wealthy families like > hers, to consolidate their power and ensure the purity of the > bloodline. > > The word came down from on high to prepare for a mainland invasion of > Japan itself. The Marines would be first in. The Marines were always > first in. They all knew that most of them would die in that invasion. > Then, one day news came of a new, terribly powerful bomb that had been > dropped on a Japanese city called Hiroshima. Not long after, a second > bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. And Japan surrendered not long after. > > Yoli's mother ended up giving her permission for us to marry, after > all. She said that she wanted to see what her grandchild would look > like, and that if we ran off, she might never get to see the baby. She > said she knew how in love we were by looking into her daughter's eyes. > And she said she knew what she herself would have done for such a > love. > > My dad came home from the war, married my mother, raised a family, and > told his boys stories about his trials and tribulations in the > Pacific. I always thought it a pity that he preferred the spoken word > to writing as he had such good stories, and my remembrances are but > poor substitutes. My dad never knew that I had married that first > time, nor did he ever know about the grandson that he lost when Yoli > passed away given birth to our son. > > My dad and my son are buried both many years and many hundreds of > miles apart. I rarely visit either of their graves... I figure all > there is there are dead bones mouldering under the good earth. I like > to think their spirits are here with me always. But of course there is > no way to know that. It's just that, sometimes, I feel them close. Or > I feel something that I can't explain, and I suppose, maybe, that is > it. > > Thank you for reading, > > Dan > Moq_Discuss mailing list > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > Archives: > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > http://moq.org/md/archives.html ___ Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org/md/archives.html
