We are losing something; something that
every generation loses. When it is lost, it becomes simply a list of facts
called history. But facts and history
don’t even begin to describe this something.
They don’t make you feel, they don’t make you begin to understand. Facts and history are just not real to most
people.
They aren't real because they
never saw it, felt it, experienced it.
They only read about it in a book or maybe saw a documentary. This something is real. This something is disappearing.
I say something, but it’s really a lot
of something’s. It’s a lot of men, and
women. It’s a lot of leaders and a lot
of followers. It’s time and life. It is real not just with those who
experienced it, but with their families as well. But as generations pass, so does the feeling
and the reality.
What is this something? You say. It is the greatest generation. It’s in the
heartbeat, memory, passion, and heart of every WWII veteran. It’s in their spouses, and their
children. It’s in their stories. It’s in their passion for this country they
believed in and loved so much.
And as their lives continue to fade into
the history books, unfortunately their passion and their stories do too.
My dad’s stories live in me and will for
the remainder of my life. I feel like
many of those stories have more value to me than any earthly possession.
He told stories of ships, planes, guns,
invasions, fires, explosions, bombs, and much more. As a child, those were my takeaways from those
stories. But as a man, it became clear
that his stories were about people. He
fought and lived alongside many men who died for their country. He felt the pain, he felt the desperation, he
felt the agony of loss and defeat, and he felt the amazing but costly feeling
of victory. He always remembered the
faces and the real lives. Yes the memories
had smiles and laughter; but they also had fear, terror, and death.
The stories my dad told painted
pictures. They always seemed real to me.
They were real because he was on that
ship and in those battles, many battles. He felt the explosion as that Kamikaze dove
into his ship. He felt the heat from the
fire, and the water from the fire hose he carried. He helped the injured and pulled the dead out
of the wreckage. And that was just one
morning out of years of service not just for my dad, but for scores of others.
The stories always ring in my head, and
in my heart. My dad represents his
generation very well. He passed away
several years ago, and with him most of these great men and yes women are
passing. They will soon be gone, and so
will their vivid stories.
That is, unless we refuse to let those
stories fade.
I will not let the memories and the
stories be lost. My dad and his shipmate’s
memories and stories deserve to live on.
They should be remembered, honored, and repeated with the same passion
in which they were told. I will share
them with my kids, and hopefully with their kids.
We must remember the sacrifices, and we
must remember that they were real, not just history.
On this Memorial Day Weekend, don’t just
barbecue, swim, fish, or play. Remember
those who fought, served, lived, died.
Share their stories and honor them.
