Veterans Day

Tomorrow is Veteran's Day, and that holiday always brings me thoughts of my father.

My new office/library, D1's former bedroom, is where I've been spending more and more time. On the wall I've hung my father's group pictures from 2 separate US Army companies he was in, as well as his induction and discharge papers. Wifey made me a lovely shadow box with some photos of him, and cufflinks, his army dog tags, etc...

It's funny, though. He was never a flag waver. He served in the army for nearly 4 years, right at the peak of his young man years, but I don't think he was particularly proud of his service. He always saw it as a duty, and obligation, but mostly a major annoyance.

I used to ask him why he never thought about avoiding the draft, as so many young men did in the Vietnam years. I remember, as a child, hearing tales of my sister's friends heading to Canada, or injuring themselves to stay out of the military.

My father just shrugged and said it never occurred to him to do that --he felt it was his duty, and so off he went.

But, his years in the US Army instilled in him a lasting revulsion of having to take orders from people you knew were dumber than you were...

This is why it was so important to him that I become a "professional" -- a man who could "hang his shingle" and not have to answer to a boss.

When I was a boy, and played soldier, and had an impressive GI Joe doll collection (do boys still play with those, or have video games replaced them?), I used to ask my father about his experiences.

He never saw combat, but even the thought of training excited me --a Bronx Jewish boy who went from pushing dress carts in the Garment Industry to crawling around in muddy fields in Texas, with live training rounds exploding over his head.

He was never excited or proud about talking about the days. I know a large part of that was generational. The WW II guys just got the job and did it, and then came home.

My uncle Jordan, a meek vending machine repairman, never talked about his time in the Pacific Theatre. One day, I was at his Queens apartment, and he had out a scrap book. There was a photo of him standing in front of a plane he worked on --the Enola Freaking Gay! Jordan was part of one of the most significant missions in US history, and never peeped about it.

So there'll be parades and rememberances about our latest crop of veterans, from Iraq and Afghanistan. I know what my father's take on them would have been: "Poor, stupid, dumb bastards."

Like John Fogarty, I ain't no military son.

But, I'm still so proud of my father. I know his years in the Army, and service to the US, helped make him the man he was --even though he couldn't wait to come home.