my fathers' memories

  Todays marks 76 years from the end of World War Two. It is estimated that fewer than three hundred thousand veterans of that war are living today, in the United States that is. My father is among the deceased. He survived the war and passed away in 1990. I can't say with any degree of accuracy how many WW2 veterans I knew personally. Few spoke of it when I was young. It was simply called the war. Korea was called just that, Korea. That is on my mind as I compose todays posting, all those that served being relegated to history. All told it is estimated 70 million people died as a result of that war. That includes active combatants and civilian casualties. In excess of six million people died as a result of genocide! That is the horror of world conflict. Today the vast majority of us only remember WW2 as something that happened before our time. We have seen it in war movies both factual and fiction. War was glorified in my youth, a different attitude that today. Just like the stories of the old west Hollywood rewrote the script. For many the Hollywood version of the war is the version we believe. The truth is far more horrible and desperate than all of that. In more recent years movies have been made in an attempt to show those realities. But those movies aren't nearly as exciting or entertaining and so suffer at the box office. We want to be entertained. World War Two was the last war we could declare and celebrate as a victory. I have never known that feeling and I'd hazard a guess and say 99% of the population of the United States hasn't either. Surely it must be a feeling of euphoria. 

 I have some mementos, medals  and memorabilia from that time that belonged to my father. I cherish them and have some on display. He rarely spoke of any of that, preferring to talk about the airplane he flew in. He was a member of the crew for B-24 bombers. His job was flight engineer and gunner for the top turret in combat situations. He would talk about the engines, the bombs and some of his experiences in the skies over Germany. But he didn't talk about shooting down other aircraft or the devastating effect of the bombs he dropped. He never spoke of crewmembers lost. When questioned a distant look would come into his eyes and he changed the subject. I believe the things he saw and the things he did in the line of duty haunted him all his days. PTSD? No, I don't believe that at all. sorrow, regret perhaps. but not traumatized. You can feel bad without suffering mental illness. I don't recall any other veterans talking about any of that. The impression I always got was that they were just glad to have survived at all. 

 Among the things I have from my father is his photograph album. In that book there are pictures of those he served with. I look at them with sorrow knowing they are now forgotten faces. I have no idea of their names. A few do have a name written on it, a precious few. I have posted a few of those pictures to Facebook on Veterans day and other occasions lest they be forgotten. It's the least I can do. I think about trying to locate family for the ones with a name but it hasn't gone any further than that. Perhaps one day. After my passing I do wonder what will happen to them. They will be of little or no interest to my sons or grandsons. Neither of them ever got to meet my father and so there is no connection with the story. Just some pictures of men in uniforms. Faces among millions of faces. Even though I never knew them, they knew my dad. Even though I don't know their names I will not forget them. They are not forgotten faces, only forgotten names. 

  Although I never served in an active war where I saw combat personally. I do remember the many faces I served alongside. Few pictures from that time exist and I admit I don't remember every name. With far too many I already say, I remember that guy, what was his name?  Like old vacation photos we find ourselves asking, where was that? I sometimes wonder where those men in the pictures went, what their lives became. For now, I'll hold onto those photographs, my fathers memories, seems the least I can do.