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Is this a bit maudlin, a bit corny, maybe? Yes. But hey, i'm allowed.
My father was born in 1925, the son of Portuguese immigrants. He had 13 brothers and sisters, not all of whom survived infancy.
He dropped out of school in the eighth grade to work, and when he turned 18 he enlisted in the Navy as a medic and went to war.
He was there, at Normandy. He was up on the bluffs above the beaches with a group of Marines, helping to spy out German positions. He saw the bombs that fell short or too far away from the heavily mined beaches, and he saw the troops land and fight their way inland. Being a medic, he saw a lot of blood.
And then it was over and he came back home and went back to school and became, in the fullness of time, my Dad. And i've always admired him, and been proud of him, and been amazed by the success he's had in life when his beginnings were so hard.
So this is in recognition of him, my dear old dad (legal and binding) who is 79 and still builds radio controlled planes and golfs and mows the yard and sits up until 2 a.m. playing 'Zelda', and who tells my mother every single day that he loves her.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Go here to learn about the history of this poem and about John McCrae, who wrote it.
My father was born in 1925, the son of Portuguese immigrants. He had 13 brothers and sisters, not all of whom survived infancy.
He dropped out of school in the eighth grade to work, and when he turned 18 he enlisted in the Navy as a medic and went to war.
He was there, at Normandy. He was up on the bluffs above the beaches with a group of Marines, helping to spy out German positions. He saw the bombs that fell short or too far away from the heavily mined beaches, and he saw the troops land and fight their way inland. Being a medic, he saw a lot of blood.
And then it was over and he came back home and went back to school and became, in the fullness of time, my Dad. And i've always admired him, and been proud of him, and been amazed by the success he's had in life when his beginnings were so hard.
So this is in recognition of him, my dear old dad (legal and binding) who is 79 and still builds radio controlled planes and golfs and mows the yard and sits up until 2 a.m. playing 'Zelda', and who tells my mother every single day that he loves her.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Go here to learn about the history of this poem and about John McCrae, who wrote it.
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*hugs to you and your dad*
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:)
Thanks. Added a link to the poem and the man who wrote it, very cool.
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*loves my dad*
:)
added a link to the poet! Very cool.
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Let me tell you this. Take care of your Dad, don't let a day go by that you tell him you love him. My Dad passed 15 years ago, and I didn't tell him I loved him before I left the house that day. Its one of my greatest regrets, even though I know that he knew I loved him.
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You never know - it's amazing how people connect in this world.
I talk to my folks every day on Yahoo - made them get online and made them get the messenger thing. It's great fun! Made my sis do it, made my brothers do it.
I know what you mean, when you say you regret, but yeah - he knew, he knows, he'd probably say 'don't sweat it'.
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Why can't i find a decent picture of him?
Grrrrrrr.
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My dad has a couple of stories he tells, but yeah, no gory details or anything. I think - he'd rather forget all that.
But fun stories about running around in a jeep, wanting to go to some city in France and realizing half-way there it was behind the German lines, still.
And of helping to bandage the wounded, working side-by-side with a German medic, trading sulpha powder for chocolate and then, when turning to wave goodbye, having the German medic take off the helmet and wave and all this long blonde hair tumblng down - a girl!
Silly things like that. And he can still fit his Navy uniform, a source of great pride for him. :)
My dad re-joined the Navy to go to Korea but was wasn't as involved in the action there, which was probably good...
Thanks for the post back!
*hugs to your dad, too!*
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Your dad sounds wonderful, and not just cause of this stuff, either. The poem was amazing. And I think you're even cooler and now, I know where you get it from.
=D
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Hee - thank you, you lovely thing, you!
My dear old dad - still going strong! Being a house-husband just now as my mum had her knee replaced just before xmas and she's not completely able to get around yet.