Memorial Day
I spent the other day looking at a washer and dryer with all the knobs labeled in Chinese. Why, yes, you would be correct if you just thought, hmm, I didn't know Evelyn can read Chinese, because I can't read a single character. If I ever got a tattoo and wanted some word in Chinese I would be just as likely to be walking around with the word Witch (or something worse) as the word Love, and be blissfully unaware. It would all be dependent on someone else providing the characters, and whether they liked me at the time. Our older son is in China for a study abroad, and he was attempting to do a load of clothes. He thoughtfully provided me with pictures of the machines. Now in his defense, the machines did look a good deal different from ours. In my own defense, yes, I did teach him to do laundry years ago. But front loaders look different from top loaders, and the selections were different, and hey, he knew I would help. I tried my best. He tried his best. I feel confident that he has clean clothes today, he just may have had to resort to the preppier outfits of polo shirts, and nice shorts which I suspect were still untouched in his suitcase.
We've had some very humorous exchanges since he's been gone. He's assured me that he thinks beer tastes awful which guarantees his moderation, and sent me a small video clip of a guy playing harmonica at an open mike night. Harmonica playing is special to me because my Grandma W. played it. We even have a recording of her performing several hymns. So I love me some harmonica whether it's on a Bruce Springsteen track or a guy at a bar in China (he really was quite good).
But this weekend it's a little hard. This weekend marks the third anniversary of my daddy's death. Anniversaries like that are always hard. Our older son looks a great deal like my daddy. Our son, and my daddy also share the distinction of being the only ones in our family to spend significant time in an Asian country. It's hard to count a layover in Osaka on the way to Australia as being significant time in an Asian country, and that's as close as my husband and I have gotten. But the difference is that our son is working on his fluency in a foreign language, seeing the sights like the Summer Palace, the Great Wall, the Forbidden City, and learning how to order beer in Mandarin. My father learned to hold a rifle and shoot into the darkness while hoping to come home alive from Korea.
At Daddy's visitation, one of my older cousins shared with me that Daddy had nightmares for a year after returning. Grandma P. (not to be confused with my harmonica playing Grandma W.) had told my cousin about the nightmares. Until Daddy started progressing with dementia, we knew nothing about his time in Korea other then this - he would NOT watch the TV show "MASH." His one comment was that it was "nothing like that", end of discussion. As his dementia progressed we started hearing about Seoul, and we learned that in his time with the MP's he would ride on the back of the convoy taking injured troops from the front, laying down fire to try to discourage snipers from firing at them. Then he switched to communications when an officer discovered that his time working with the railroad meant he could send Morse code faster then anyone they currently had doing it. One day he confessed to me, and my sons that his prayer was to just be able to come back home to his mother. He came back, he started dating Momma, he went to East Carolina on the GI bill, and the nightmares eased. People often tell me that Daddy would be proud of our sons at Clemson. My brothers and I get a laugh out of that. While the thought is kind, he would be pissed that the purple they wear is for an ACC school and not for ECU. But as a man who joined the Army, fought a war, and became the first in his family to get a college degree, he would be very proud of their ability to go follow their dreams.
It's difficult to send your child thousands of miles away, even if he is a grown man who shaves...sometimes. But our son has Clemson professors with the group, and I trust them to do their best to keep the students safe. I think of the mothers who have sent their children into harms way and never saw their child alive again. Mothers like my great-grandmother whose youngest son was in the Army and killed in World War II. My mother has often said that her grandmother never completely got over the loss of her child.
Memorial Day is meant to honor those who sacrificed so much for us, not for the purchase of a washer and dryer. May all of us remember, and honor those, and their families who have given us the gift of freedom.
We've had some very humorous exchanges since he's been gone. He's assured me that he thinks beer tastes awful which guarantees his moderation, and sent me a small video clip of a guy playing harmonica at an open mike night. Harmonica playing is special to me because my Grandma W. played it. We even have a recording of her performing several hymns. So I love me some harmonica whether it's on a Bruce Springsteen track or a guy at a bar in China (he really was quite good).
But this weekend it's a little hard. This weekend marks the third anniversary of my daddy's death. Anniversaries like that are always hard. Our older son looks a great deal like my daddy. Our son, and my daddy also share the distinction of being the only ones in our family to spend significant time in an Asian country. It's hard to count a layover in Osaka on the way to Australia as being significant time in an Asian country, and that's as close as my husband and I have gotten. But the difference is that our son is working on his fluency in a foreign language, seeing the sights like the Summer Palace, the Great Wall, the Forbidden City, and learning how to order beer in Mandarin. My father learned to hold a rifle and shoot into the darkness while hoping to come home alive from Korea.
At Daddy's visitation, one of my older cousins shared with me that Daddy had nightmares for a year after returning. Grandma P. (not to be confused with my harmonica playing Grandma W.) had told my cousin about the nightmares. Until Daddy started progressing with dementia, we knew nothing about his time in Korea other then this - he would NOT watch the TV show "MASH." His one comment was that it was "nothing like that", end of discussion. As his dementia progressed we started hearing about Seoul, and we learned that in his time with the MP's he would ride on the back of the convoy taking injured troops from the front, laying down fire to try to discourage snipers from firing at them. Then he switched to communications when an officer discovered that his time working with the railroad meant he could send Morse code faster then anyone they currently had doing it. One day he confessed to me, and my sons that his prayer was to just be able to come back home to his mother. He came back, he started dating Momma, he went to East Carolina on the GI bill, and the nightmares eased. People often tell me that Daddy would be proud of our sons at Clemson. My brothers and I get a laugh out of that. While the thought is kind, he would be pissed that the purple they wear is for an ACC school and not for ECU. But as a man who joined the Army, fought a war, and became the first in his family to get a college degree, he would be very proud of their ability to go follow their dreams.
It's difficult to send your child thousands of miles away, even if he is a grown man who shaves...sometimes. But our son has Clemson professors with the group, and I trust them to do their best to keep the students safe. I think of the mothers who have sent their children into harms way and never saw their child alive again. Mothers like my great-grandmother whose youngest son was in the Army and killed in World War II. My mother has often said that her grandmother never completely got over the loss of her child.
Memorial Day is meant to honor those who sacrificed so much for us, not for the purchase of a washer and dryer. May all of us remember, and honor those, and their families who have given us the gift of freedom.
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| Korea 1952 |
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| Forbidden City 2017 |
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