Friday, June 6, 2008

In Rememberance of Things Past...

The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers in arms on other fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world.

--Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, addressing U.S. troops before the Normandy invasion

My father often reminisced about events that meant little to me at the time, but the emotion behind his stories often moved me... even if I had heard the stories many times over.

As was usually the case because I think he believed that if someone enjoyed a story once, they would enjoy it even more with multiple tellings.

But the war… talking about it always made him cry.

And today, he would have cried.

D-Day, the 6th of June. The largest single invasion in human history.

He often talked about the invasion of Normandy and how it changed the course of the war. About how more than 175,000 troops – boys – who, in the largest sea-borne invasion fleet in history landed on the beaches and hit the water, trying to battle past the armies of Hitler and the Third Reich. And even though many fell that day, many more pressed on, turning the proverbial tide and on D-Day, the 6th of June, when the beachhead was captured and wrestled away, it signaled the beginning of the end of World War Two.
Dad’s father was the block captain when the whole country was practicing blackouts in an attempt to prevent any sort of attack. Dad spoke almost reverently of how his father would walk the streets to make sure everyone on the block complied with the 60 second warning.

Dad grew up on the near north side of Chicago. While many of the coastal cities had more to worry about in terms of invasion, Chicago was a large enough city to merit concern.

Mom grew up in Webster Groves, a rather tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone. She lived on Elm Street, in the heart of Old Webster, in a gorgeous two-story home that I covet to this day.

It was a far cry from the apartment building my Dad grew up in, but there's no comparing city living to suburban living. It's apples and oranges.

I pass by my mother's house on a semi-regular basis and it still boggles my mind that although the yard is large, they raised chickens and turkeys right next to their Victory garden.

Dad would never eat chicken because, he said, whenever his mother made chicken and dumplings, seeing the chicken fat float to the top turned his stomach so badly that he could never fathom eating the poultry.

Mom always replied that she used to wring chickens neck when she was but a girl and she LOVED the taste of it.

But I digress, as I am wont to do...

While I had no direct impact of War World II personally, it moved me that my father would cry, sob sometimes, over the broken bodies that made sure that not only the United States remained safe

64 years ago today, boys – BABIES – went through the gates of Hell.

My father always remembered. And not just when June 6th would roll around. But often. And with great reverence.

And with lots of tears.

Today I cry for those who never came back because my father is no longer around to do so.

I might not remember, but I'll never forget.

And to those that I know – and to those that I don't – who are stationed overseas, please come home safe. My tears today are not only for those 64 years ago, but also those today.

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