My War Heroes:

Uncle Kenny, who served in WWII - signing up at the age of 17 (he lied) and who got captured on Wake Island and spent the next five years as a prisoner of war. My father-in-law Donald Edward, who also served in WWII in the South Pacific arena. Not too much to say about Don as he died before I started dating his son.

My brother-in-law, Donald David, who served in Viet Nam, and is still with us; my father Chet, who served in Korea, and is still with us. My cousin Mike, who went to West Point and spent years in Germany in the 80s. I'm pretty sure he rejoined after 9/11; we've lost touch, though, and I'm not sure where he went, but he's still around.

***

Thinking of my gentle father in the military gives me shivers, and yet it seems that even the kindest souls can survive the training and the brutality of war without necessarily becoming scarred. My Uncle Kenny was a scrapper, and my dad's older brother; his experience left him with a metal plate in his head and scars in his psyche. Cousin Mike was Aunt Janie's younger son. Janie was the girl between Kenny and my Dad, Chet.

My dad got through his term of service without becoming a drinker or a smoker; Uncle Kenny smoked like a fiend and eventually died of emphysema when he was in his early 70s. Not sure if he ever drank alcohol (the family are Methodists, and as such not drinkers).

Seeing Uncle Kenny as an adult was an eye opener. The first time at my Grandfather's funeral in 1986 and the second time at my Grandmother's funeral in 1991 with a 5 month old in my arms, he was a short, barrel-chested man who loved me through his wicked grin, his fierce hugs, and his no-nonsense voice telling me one kid was enough. I think he saw in me his lost daughter. The pain he went through at her death shocked the family as much as the death did.

I remember his always-unshaven, white-whiskery sun-leathered face, a cigarette in one hand, a cap on his bald head. He smelled of soap and cigarettes and coffee. His eyes were possessive whenever they landed on me, superimposing Lori's face over my own I'm sure.

One common denominator between Uncle Kenny and my dad is they never, ever talked about their time in the service in front of the women. Ever. Except when my Cousin Mike came for Grandpa's funeral, and the three of them told stories of boot camp, mostly. Stories that would make us laugh, not weep.

Seeing the three of them bonding at that table was so precious. They were all lone ranger types of guys; none of them had a circle of buddies. They were family men, taking care of their wives and children. The burdens they carried, they carried alone.

Cousin Mike, wherever you are, I love you. Miss you. Uncle Kenny, say hi to Lori for me. You two are always in my heart. And Daddy, I love you. See you soon, I promise; I need some gardening tips from you.