Remembering Dad

I was struck, once again, reading many British journals how many were lost in the war, a war which was not fought on our soil and from which we kept our distance, until the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

My father was there, serving on a submarine net tender managing the nets which guarded the harbor from enemy submarines. He did not die there. In fact he did not die in the war, but he never spoke about his experience there. I never stopped to wonder why until it was too late to ask, and I'm not sure how I would have asked him anyway. I believe that so much of the news is superficial and impersonal--several steps, removed from the real stories, the real relationships that are forged on the field of battle. How could anyone who wasn't there possibly understand?

As I begin to understand, I find myself thinking more about my father, as well as the men he served with, unknown to me, who were so much a part of his story. Many sacrificed their lives, for our way of life, but many others sacrificed some important part of themselves, known only to them because they never felt able to speak about those experiences. Rest in peace, Dad.