Memoire of my father

My father used to tell me stories about his life in the military. He had joined the US army when he was young. It always seemed that the way he told the story he must have been 19 years old and a hell raiser. But I know just because he had grown up in Germany, then come to the States and became a citizen on his own that he, at the earliest, was about 23 or so. This doesn't really detract from the stories but does chip his enamel that he learned all life's lessons while young. I know that he wasn't yet perfect while he was an adult. His stories also all seem to have a stain of humor in them. I mean this in a good way. His humor, like my own, is unusual, not bad or debased but very human, very staining. What I mean by staining is that it leaves an indelible mark on those who partake. His time in the 82nd airborne must have been good as everything was a joke.

He told stories about teaching his commanding colonel German in his spare time. This was the relationship that gave him the leverage for many good things that were going to happen in his service. He also bought two Leica camera's from pawn shops around his base. The Leica camera being a fine instrument with perfect lenses. They were old though. To his credit he still has both of these cameras. They look like something from Micheal Angelo's workbench to my 20-21st century sensibilities. He tells of how he would take pictures of his platoon mates for 25 cents a shot on the shady side of their barracks. The camera was in the shade with the fellow standing in the full hot North Carolina sun. I love that story and if you follow the advice and take pictures the same way, you do get a great picture even on some horrible cameras. This was only one of his odd jobs as he also gave haircuts on Saturdays also. His haircutting must be correct as he had an old set of electric clippers that have given many a crew cut in their time. At least in my time they cut my hair often. Many a crew cut was given for free to me and my brother, I am glad I didn't have to pay for those haircuts. Dad definitely was not a salon man. But it was one of the many thriftsome ways he had to save a dollar or two.

I truly respect my dad's thrifty ways. He spent his life telling me how when in WWII Germany they would use every part of a Hog they slaughtered except the squeal. And the hundreds of uses of bacon grease from making biscuits to styling hair. I never followed much of this advice. He was a different generation and European. I don't know that that makes so much of a difference but I am X generation American. I grew up in a culture of disposables. Everything from our diapers to our cars are only good for one use to a few years and then you need new. The Y generation has it worse. Some of their disposables, like a 70 dollar video game, last only a week or so. But my dad's thriftiness has enabled him to have the money when needed to take care of himself and mother.

They had such great plans. After retirement they were going to travel all over. It seemed that they had done well, religiously deposited in the IRA so that at 65 they could live a good life and travel Europe, Asia, Australia, and the Americas. Mother got sick at about 62 though. The doctors said she needed a surgery or she could drop dead at any moment. They called it elephant trunk surgery. The plan was to replace the whole length of her aorta from the heart through her body with Teflon tubing. Sounded easy and seemed like a good risk. They claimed it would add years to her life. After the surgery she was paralyzed from the waist down. She spent the rest of 5 years under treatment fighting infections that never went away and finally gave up the ghost of life as the promise of retired bliss had escaped her. I still remember vividly the last time I visited with mother. She confided in me that she wanted to die. Of course I was outraged and stammered such to her, but she was adamant that if she hadn't gotten the surgery, her and father could have had maybe a few months or a year of what they worked their entire life to achieve. Instead she got a surgery and pain, and suffering. She felt she had failed father as she didn't keep her end of the deal. They couldn't travel. She wished she could die to give father peace. The Confucian teaching of filial piety never had a more succinct expression. Pretty good for an old staunchly catholic family. My mom so supported dad through her entire life, I too wish she wouldn't have had the surgery, a quick painful death would have been much preferred over the emotional torture I watched my parents live under. My dad lost a lot of his humor when mom became so sick, but still I remember fondly many of dad's stories.

The funniest of dad's stories was when he was working in the mess hall. It was custom that the big silver stainless steel pictures would be set on the counter full of coffee. This was an everyday thing. Everyday the big black Sergeant Major would come in and get his coffee from these big silver pictures. The way dad tells it the Sergeant Major was a man who was big and his voice and mannerisms were bigger. The Sergeant Major would dress down the new guys at a drop of a hat and was quite the character around the platoon and mess tent. Well the story goes that one day they had put bacon grease off of the sheets of oven cooked bacon into one of these same silver pictures, you know the grease with hundreds of uses, this is one of them. My dad explains that the picture wound up on the counter where the coffee belonged simply by accident. The funniest part is that dad said the Sergeant Major didn't even mention it, simply drank his coffee and went on. Sounds like things were a give and take relationship down there in the 82nd. I would love to someday find one of dad's platoon mates and find out one of the other sides to these hyjinx. Being in the military I know that there would be no way to keep composure with a big mouthful of bacon grease, especially if I was a Sergeant Major. But that is the military now. It is different than when I came in some 20 years ago, and that was different than when my Dad was in 50 years ago. Human nature has that things change, but surprisingly some things are always the same as well.

When I first joined the US Air Force in 1986 my dad guffawed that I was going to be one of the 'fly-boys.' That was his pet name for the men in the air force of the late sixties. I came in, expecting the things my Dad told me about the US Army. He had done his two years and his opinion was that the military could do nothing but good for someone. That it was a character builder. Well I was tired of school and I wanted a break. I wanted the good times my Dad told me about at the dinner table while we ate mom's famous pot roast. The camaraderie and male bonding were something that, while present at home, did not hit the same mark as my Dad's glorious stories. So off I go and enlist in the Air Force while Ronald Reagan was president and I was 17. My Mom and Dad had to sign for me to enlist. My Mom worried and my Dad argued that it builds character. So Dad won out and 3 weeks after graduation I am on a plane for basic training expecting basic training to be a veritable hell where they were going to beat me daily until I lost my personality and became one of the masses. Well basic training for the Air Force was simply structured routine and learning to hold your tongue while doing EXACTLY what one was told. Thankfully I had plenty of practice at doing EXACTLY what I was told. As I was growing up I was often under the care of my big brothers and sisters. I learned early that they weren't as worldly as mom and dad and that they were just a prone to mistakes as anyone in my peer group. So when they told me to do something, I did EXACTLY what they told me. This usually wound up as fun for me and not fun for them. I remember one time my oldest sister Debbie/Debra(she had changed her name at one point and I don't remember which it was at the time of the incident) was really fed up with me. I was young and probably bugging the shit out of her. So in frustration she told me to "go play in the mud." She was pretty upset and dealing with Debbie/Debra when she is upset is never much fun and it doesn't get you very far either. So in my adolescent mind I decided that since she was an 'elder' I had to do what she said. So I went out back of the house. This was before dad and I had installed a patio. I took the hose, turned the spigot and made a huge puddle of wet dirt, commonly referred to as mud. It was warm out and the cool earth with its loamy smell and coolness was pretty fun to play in. I was making mud pies and little caves. I remember playing that I had the cave from the Planet of the Apes movies in my mud and had a grand adventure there in my own little world. As the day wore on the sun became less strong and I got chilled in the wet mud, so decided I had played in the mud long enough. That surely I had achieved the goal of giving Debbie/Debra the peace she had desired and went inside.

As you can imagine my mom was uniquely appreciative of my state of being. I was encrusted with the archival diggings of adventure on the Planet of the Apes and when questioned in a most military manner, replied instantly that Debbie/Debra had told me to go play in the mud. I don't specifically remember but I don't think my mom kept a straight face. I seem to remember her kind of chuckling as she shoed me upstairs to bathe. Debbie/Debra was fit to be tied. She dealt with mom and I took a bath. The warm water was great and helped to clean off what the filthy apes had left on me. This story became an ancestral anecdote for mom. She always told it with a smile and I think Debbie/Debra still twitches upon recitation. This wasn't the only run in I had with Debbie/Debra.

I also remember mom and dad both worked at the shop which at the time was about a 40 minute drive. They worked till 5 or 6 pm so after school I needed someone to watch after me. Debbie/Debra was married and living not to far away, so I was deposited at Debbie/Debra's house each afternoon to await pick up by mom. Debbie/Debra was married to some guys names Chip. Didn't seem like the best choice but it was what Debbie/Debra wanted. She had a little girl and everything was difficult. This is a characteristic that Debbie/Debra to this day still has. Everything is difficult and dramatic. Well I don't remember the specifics but Debbie/Debra was raging at me and told me that I should "…just get lost!" Well Debbie/Debra's house was close to a local lake/park. So off I go, running away to the park. I had another grand adventure playing on the swingset and slide. I guess after a while Debbie/Debra looked for me her and her husband Chip canvassed the neighborhood calling out their car windows for me. I remember seeing them drive by the park and yelling out for me, but I had been told to get lost and being obedient I did not answer or make myself known. I simply waited for them to drive by. Later when close to when mom would be returning I started back to Debbie/Debra's house to meet mom and go home. I am unclear who found me first mom or Debbie/Debra but I know is I didn't spend too many days at Debbie/Debra's house. I guess I was somewhat of a pain in the arse.

I wasn't the most joyous kid as I grew up. I hated school. I remember in 5th grade for some reason they had displaced my school class. We could not go to school in our normal school we had to bus to school and then get on another bus to go to a different school. This was annoying, problematic and an opportunity. It is during this time that two memorable things happened. One I broke my little finger. It is till this day still misshapen from that. And two, I went truant from school for close to 3 weeks. As I said my parents worked and they left sometime close to when I left. So I turned my daily routine to be leave the house on time. Walk down the driveway, which was supposed by trees and then enter the woods and hide out until Mom left for work. Then I would go back to the house and do whatever I wanted to until mom came back. I was careful of getting caught. I ate the lunch she had packed and threw the trash from lunch away in the outside garbage can. I made little to no mess and mostly watched The Price is Right and Win Lose or Draw. There were other favorite shows like Love American Style and That Girl, but that is all nostalgia. Of course eventually I got busted.

After about 3 weeks of this I was doing my routine and little did I know that our elderly neighbor was worried about little Fred. She had seen me not at the bus stop for a long time and then one morning she saw me go out of the house, then later turn around and enter the woods. She though I went back to the house. Mom was furious. She found me trying to be very small and took me to school. My teacher Ms Dolittle asked if I should be allowed to catch up as there was a math test that day. My mother went hard line and said, no way. I was to take my bad grade like a man. I got an A. I should have gotten a C or D as the A I got scolded for a long time over.



Continued Later