Proud

In this black and white photograph, you are standing straight and proud in your army uniform behind an old car. You smile at whomever is taking the picture, probably my young mother. You appear to be a carefree young man. I know in the back of your mind, you are thinking about having to hitchhike to return to your army base on time. You said people always stopped to pick up soldiers.

 It is the beginning of World War II. A strong farm boy, you pulled hard for freedom with your fellow soldiers, like oxen in a yoke. As a medic in the military, you made many people more comfortable during their suffering, but you rarely talked about it. Although you never mentioned it, you were awarded seven bronze stars, the “fourth-highest individual military award, awarded for acts of heroism, acts of merit, or meritorious service in a combat zone,” according to my research. I remember one story you told me of refusing to believe a spot on the floor in the hospital could not be cleaned, and you scrubbed until it was white again. Your work ethic was evident even then.

We still have some of the cards and gifts you sent Mom from overseas, every one as romantic as Valentine’s Day. You loved her with the last breath in your body. 

Daddy, I want you to know that today at our school, your 18-year-old great-grandson Lance read your name aloud. along with your son's name, who served in Viet Nam and is by your side in heaven, during a tribute to the veterans. I was so proud.