I admit it. Memorial Day often gets lost on us. It falls so close to the end of school in these parts that we still seem to be in “recovery mode” when it rolls around.
For some reason, this Memorial Day, I woke up thinking about my dad, a WWII veteran, one of that greatest generation the nation remembers today.
He came through Ellis Island as a toddler, grew up in the fields and rivers of the South, went to war for his adopted homeland.
My dad loved politics and history, so he was attentive when Hitler started his move across Europe. Seeing the handwriting on the wall, Daddy joined the Army rather than get drafted down the road.
He was due to get out December 7th of the next year.
You know what happened.
My dad had some great stories.
He became a US citizen while serving in the Army when his commanding officer realized he’d never taken the oath.
He taught Yankee soldiers to mix fried egg and bacon into Cream of Wheat since the mess didn’t serve grits.
Every morning for months, he typed a letter to his commanding officer requesting a transfer to bombardier unit.
Every afternoon, the request came back,
That man undoubtedly saved my father’s life,
hence saving mine, of course,
and, most importantly, protecting my very lost future father from an eternity in a very real Hell.
I love how God’s hand was on my dad long before he knew Him.
Though I fear that, as a nation, we are indeed forgetting those great men and their sacrifices. Today I hope we remember
and thank the Lord for them.