"In Flanders Fields, the poppies blow, between the crosses, row on row."
I thought of the poem, written by John McRae, a battlefield doctor in World War One, the "War to end all Wars" if only THAT were true. I thought this morning about those who died fighting and those who came back, changed by their experience. My father was a World War Two vet, who fought at the Battle of the Bulge. He talked about it more later in life. One of the things he told me, you don't see in the history books. He told me the housewives in St Vith brought their fine white lines out to the American soldiers to help them disguise their tanks and other equipment from the air. It was Christmastime and there was snow on the ground. My father asked one woman why she would do this. She told him if the Germans won, they would not need the linens.
I am thinking about a vet i bought a poppy from, in front of a museum downtown, bout 10 years ago. I bought it and waled away a bit. then , overwhelmed, I went back and asked if I could hug him. He said yes and we hugged. I cried. It mean a lot to me. I think you only see the WWII vets with poppies; even though they symbolize WWI, I think there is a carryover. After all, the fathers of the WWII vets were the ones who fought in the War to end all wars.
Today, and every day really, I am grateful for those who fought. While I did not always agree with sending out young men and women into battle (yes, Viet Nam) I had and have no quarrel with the soldier who did his or her duty. Thank you for your service. May we remember it always and work together toward a day where we can argue and disagree without sending our people to fight and die for a disagreement ( Hitler was another story altogether..)
I have been thinking somuch about my father, a WWII vet - a purple heart vet, although I did not know this until later on (much later on) My father did NOT have what was called a "good war." Well, what the hell is a good war? Anyway, I believe he won his purple heart in the Battle of Okinawa, as I have a telegram sent by his commanding officer to my mother. He never talked about the war - except the funny and/or dirty bits. He did tell me once that he wanted NO FLAG on his coffin, as too many of his buddies had nothing but a flag while they were tossed into a trench, after someone got their tags or whatever, so they could write to the family. So when he died, I said no flag - I am sure the man at Forest Lawn thought I was a filthy commie. I did relent and allow them to present it already folded to my mother. She knew some of what he wen through and didn't particularly want it, but was polite. I am sure his war experiences helped shape him into the bitter, angry drinker he becase later on. We.. anywya, a sincere God bless you to all the women and men who went and served and helped me sit here tonight typing this and I hope to hell we don't see another world war. After all, as Edwin Starr sang, "War, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing!"
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