Every year when my father was alive I would ask him to join me on my radio program at this time of year.
My father was a veteran of WW2. He served with the Royal Canadian Air Force and did two tours of duty as a Lancaster Bomber pilot.
My father liked to talk a lot about the war, but only the good things. The Guys he served with, their stories, and all of the squadron reunions they would have until they stopped getting together every year about 10 years ago. There were some horrible things my father saw I know this. Dad wouldn’t speak of them. Instead one year he gave me a book.
I read it.
The book explained it better than he every could. The trauma. The Fear. The Horrific things he saw. But my dad always looked at the positive first, and chose to eliminate the bad.
My father past away last year at the age of 97 years.
(yes, he was THAT old when he had me)
I miss having my dad on the radio and hearing what he had to say. Hearing him struggle to remember the stories that happened a long, long time ago.
You have to remember that when we look back in recent history, WW1 and WW2 really weren’t that long ago. The Korean and Vietnam wars even sooner than that. And unfortunately Iraq, and Afghanistan too close to our historical marker.
I can’t imagine what life would be like if my father wasn’t a veteran. If my mother wasn’t a child of the blitz.
If their stories taught me anything, they taught me to be thankful, be respectful, and to always remember.