I Am My Father's Daughter

My promotion ceremony at the WIMSA Memorial January 2000.   Me, Dad, and Paul

    This photo was taken just minutes before I pinned on Major.  It was January 2000.  On February 8, 2003, we lay my father to rest two months shy of his 79th birthday.  There is not a day that goes by that I do not miss him and remember all that he taught me.  From our incessant ability to stand our ground in the face of adversity, to the tears we shed whenever old glory passed, we were very much alike.
    He taught me to always do what was right, to work hard, to maintain my independence.  He said there was nothing better than being at a baseball game, ice cream could cure anything, and you should always pay in cash whenever you can.

His article in the local newspaper, his Merrimac Museum.

    By the time I was 8 or 9, I was able to pitch a tent by myself, build a campfire, navigate the woods at night, and pick a tick out of my skin without flinching or being all girlie about it.
   He could swim under water the entire length of an Olympic size swimming pool and still make us laugh when he rose from the water looking remarkably like bozo the clown.  He always said we should live our lives like boy scouts.  Be prepared and follow the boy scout laws.  And he always did.  He didn't drink, or smoke.  And I never ever heard him utter a bad word.

Dad in World War II

    We both served in the Army during war.  With only a ninth grade education, he was drafted into World War II.  He was a Field Artilleryman.  He went to New Guinea and the Philippines.  He came home with loss of hearing from the big guns and malaria.  He said no one wore hearing protection back then.  If you did, you didn't hear the enemy coming at you.
    When he first found that he had "the diabetes" (its what he called it), I was still an enlisted soldier stationed in Germany.  It was 1984 and my supervisor was in the process of discussing my possible selection for officer candidate school.  With my father ill, I thought it best I be nearer to home.  I returned to Virginia and went to college in the next town over.  When he had convinced me he was feeling better, I began ROTC, and in time accepted an assignment in Korea.   
    I was a Signal soldier.  My wartime service was during Operations Desert Storm (Kuwait) and Restore Hope (Somalia).  When I went to war, I sent letters home nearly every day.  He forwarded them all to the local hometown newspaper.  He believed a soldier's story should be told.  Had I known, I might not have been as forthright about my time there.  One day, I'm going to finish putting his 300+ letters from World War II in this computer and publish them.  Two can play at that game.      
   When he was in his latter years, we would still talk, though it was often difficult.  He was significantly hard of hearing, and couldn't see because of cataracts.  The malaria had weakened his gums causing him to lose his teeth (he was so proud of the fake ones, he would smile all the time).
    For as long as he could, he managed to pick himself up and take a walk around the block (or further) even if he did carry his walker along just in case.  He used to say, if ever you lose your way, wander off...take a hike and find your path again.  You'll find it.
   The last lesson his taught was the summer before he died.  I was depressed and bitter after two back to back medical boards.  I felt my beloved military had let me down leaving me broken, with no where to turn.  We were sitting on the porch, when he reached in to his wallet and pulled out a yellowed piece of folded paper.  It was his discharge paperwork.  He had kept it in his wallet for nearly 60 years.  He handed it to me, looked up and said, "Bird" (he always called me bird) "No matter what happens, be proud of your service."    It was his final lesson.  That was August 2002.  It was the last time we talked.

Brian's promotion to Colonel, Fort Huachuca

   Today, I walk...Its not the Appalachian trail my father once walked, but it is what I am capable of now.  And in my small way, I hope I am teaching others, who feel they have lost their path, that they too can find it again with a little hike and a good attitude.  
  

Paul and me at Fort Huachuca