Happy Memorial Day

He was a no-bullshit kind of guy. I think even he would agree with that assertion. There were times when we wanted to smack each other across the chops but good and in my younger days he wasn't shy about doling out the discipline. Truth is, I deserved it. And more. In my youth he was elusive, not really wanting to be a part of a kid's life but dutifully attempting it anyway. There were times when he could be patient and understanding and then be distant and moody on a whim. Through the 60's and early 70's he was pretty hand's off and we really didn't have those bonding moments you'd think sons would experience with their fathers. There was this little thing called The Generation Gap which made the divide between the Greatest Generation and Baby Boomers difficult to bridge. Rock music, hippies, student protest over the Vietnam War... all that stuff scared the crap out of him and it didn't help with me being the world's biggest pain in the ass. He just couldn't understand it all but eventually he would. I was surprised one day to find out that both Mom and Pop halfway expected me to flee to Canada to escape the draft. That never came to pass. I stayed to protest the war in my own quiet way. I imagine it was somewhat humiliating and shameful for him to have a son that wasn't jumping at the chance to fight the commies but as it turned out our relationship would blossom later in life. He was still a bit of a mystery to me but one that I was determined to unravel even if it killed me. All I wanted was to have a relationship with my father.

He damn near got himself killed on the aircraft carrier Intrepid during the height of kamikaze attacks in the Battle of the Pacific. One major explosion that took out several decks was nearly the one that did him in and even his own crew mates thought he was a goner for a few tense minutes. But he dodged enough bullets to make it home and have a family. We saw the country the Navy way, with frequent moves and new friends every year or two. Through this we somehow had a wonderful time as a family with enough good times to make our own version of a Billy Wilder movie. We had what many would envy... a roof over our heads and a stable home life so who cares if Pop wasn't Hugh Beaumont and Mom wasn't always wearing a chiffon dress like Barbara Billingsley? No whining here. But around 1975 something strange happened, Pop was starting to relate to me on a more personal level. He even laughed at my jokes. Maybe it was because my older brothers had moved out and I was the only male left in the household. Maybe he was getting mellower with age and was just softening around the edges. No matter, I was finally having the relationship with him that I'd always wanted.



Our lives weren't perfect but it was damn good. He proudly did his duty and his generation saved the world so that we could read books, chase girls and have the life he never had. We had good times and bad and I wouldn't change any of it. And Pop, if you're out there know that you're never far from our thoughts. I miss you so.