This is a re-posting of an piece I'd written a few years ago for Memorial Day. The day we remember those who went into Harms Way on our behalf.
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I've been writing about my father, and other male relations lately on other pages, and boards. Mostly in regards to their being Negro and fighting for the segregated U.S. armed forces during World War 2. Many revisionist ideologues, and black race nationalists are perplexed by this. Some to the point of being disrespectful of that generation that gave us so much.
It's so simple, they were Americans defending their country. Despite everything they, and theirs had suffered this was their country, and no one, not the Klan, not Tojo, not Hitler was gonna say it wasn't. I'm thinking back to the 1950's when I was a youngster, and my Dad, and my Uncles, combat vets all, towered over me like redwoods.
They were men, and sounded like men. There was a strength even in their softest words. I felt very safe in that forest of elders. They'd come back! They were home, and were setting about to make their country, their "home" better. They was no talk of going back to Africa, or any praise of overseas dictators or their blood splattered regimes.
They had after all just fought, and helped to defeat two of the most cruel, and evil dictatorships to appear in centuries. If those powers had won I would not be here nor would most of you. So-called political "progressives" should think of that the next time they call America the most "evil" country in history. They might want to read some actual "history" before they say such things again.
As to my elders they never spoke openly about what they'd seen, and done in the war. However we could see the road map of battles cut into their body's. When at the beach I saw war scars on my Daddies legs, and side. I saw burn marks on one Uncle, and shrapnel wounds on another. They didn't have to tell us we saw, and understood.
Though they are all gone now, I say God Bless you Dad, Uncle Lee, Uncle George, Uncle Clyde, Uncle Owen, and thanks, thank you for giving us our lives, our hope, and the World.
1 comment:
I once had a dream about a man of bronze. His substance was as liquid bronze that moved according to his will. Upon awakening, I interpreted it to refer to a close friend of mine who I felt had done a good job of directing his own destiny.
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