World War 11, Uncles and Poppies

(This is a re-post from yesterday...I discovered that it can be a muddle when you paste on Typepad! Direct composition seems to work better.  I kept losing the ends of my sentences)

A Facebook friend reminded me of Veteran's Day.  When you work for yourself, the days run together, and holidays jump out at you from behind the door.

Today is Poppy Day, when the old guys from the VFW sold little plastic or paper poppy boutonnieres on our little town's Main Street.  The men didn't talk about the war much, but we knew it was to remember the dead soldiers, the gold stars in the windows and the drawn faces of the mothers and widows at Sunday mass when Father O'Connor prayed for the living and the dead.

Veteran's Day...our family was very lucky.  My Dad and three uncles came home after WWII.  Uncle Bob was wounded in Iwo Jima, but he recovered.  When they all returned, I can clearly remember seeing my Dad standing on the steps of my grandparent's house.  He was watching me while I played in the yard.  "Do you know who I am, Jimpy?", he said, smiling...his teeth so white and his skin so tanned.  (He had been stationed in Guam)  I was awed by Dad in his Navy uniform......he looked so ...imperial and crisp.

My  mother and I had stayed with my grandparents when Dad left for the war.  I was six months old then, and didn't see my father for four more years.  Mom worked as a secretary in Grandad and Dad's law office, and my grandmother told me later that she never saw mother cry while Dad was away, but sometimes she could hear her weeping at night in her bedroom.

The first thing we did when the men returned was to go camping on the Clearwater River so the guys could fly fish.  Dad and Uncle Jim tied the BeautyRest mattress on top of the blue Oldsmobile (my grandmother was a bit of a diva about her sleeping arrangements) and we drove up for an endless day on the horrific Greer Grade (we were almost killed every hour by logging trucks) and into wood roads wandering to Idaho nowhere.  Finally, at the very best site along the river, the men set up camp with tarpulins, a proper fire and big tents that smelled funny for being in storage so long.  The women cooked, gossiped, kept an eye on us (Auntie Kay brought my two cousins, Dick and Bill), and read Ladies Home Journal and Redbook.  At night the guys would drink bourbon, arrange their gear for the next early morning fishing, and we would eat fresh trout and salad and fall asleep in our parent's laps around the campfire.  No one talked about the war.  We were just happy to be allive and together again.

My other memories are of helping my grandfather in the community Victory Garden...to this day, the smell of tomato vines brings that memory back....and my mother trading cigarette rations with friends so she could buy me a new pair of those white high topped leather shoes toddlers used to wear.  We even saved aluminum from our gum wrappers for the War Effort.  It was the right thing to do.

I have seen many wars in my lifetime and too many good people wounded or lost.  Innocent people suffering in a war for the right or wrong reasons  I don't think lasting peace among humans is possible.  "When will we ever learn..." as Mary Traver used to sing....