My father rarely thought outside the box. My mother didn't believe in boxes. This was the alchemy of my childhood. I loved them both madly.

*****

Some of the following is the result of haphazard research, but this is what I have for now.

This week on D-Day, my 87 year old father was in surgery. I had so many questions. And that's the thing. Since Memorial Day, I've talked a lot with my father and asked a lot of questions. Perhaps the questions arrived because I now have a son in active duty. When I talked with my father, I received surprising answers.

The Great Generation is dying and I'm beginning to think that too often we forget to ask the questions. None of what my father shared tore at my heart, filled me with horror. I simply learned stuff about him I didn't know.

I hadn't asked.


*****


My father was a hardscrabble Irish scamp. It took several generations of his family to finally get a foothold on the American Dream. It took lots of hard work and sacrifice.

He was yanked out of school at a young age to help build the family business, which at that time was plumbing.

The Daddy I grew up with was a plumber. I might add that he was beloved in the small town where I grew up. People probably saw him more often than they wanted... ask the Gellers! *laughing* Like the doctors of our town, he was on call 24/7 for those unexpected household emergencies.

*****

At a young age, my father signed up with the Navy. He was just a little boy when he walked onto the cargo ship that would take him to North Africa. These ships were known as The Workhorses of WWII. Though the ship was heavily loaded with supplies and headed for Europe, my father became deathly ill and there was no doctor onboard. Tentatively, he was diagnosed with tuberculosis and put into isolation.

He was dropped off at Oran, Algeria - and ended up in French Morocco where he spent two years of his first deployment.

He remembers struggling down the gangplank in Oran with his bags - no one offering to help him - so very very weak, he wobbled to land and was whooshed off to a hospital. He was finally diagnosed with pneumonia. This was before the discovery of penicillin - so he was deathly ill.

After recovering, his duties were reassigned to French Morocco.

He says it changed his life. He was just this scrawny kid who was yanked out of school to plumb... and he landed in French Morocco for two years.


*****


I actually learned about this portion of my father's Navy career several years ago when I was planning to travel to Morocco to volunteer at a children's hospital in Rabat. It was then that I learned about the happenstance adventure my father had had in French Morocco. It was quite the revelation.

I was assigned to cancer patients. I was nothing more than a glorified babysitter, but it changed my life, too. My hours were of value for the parents who were exhausted and thrilled to have me entertain their children. My secret pleasure was offering myself as the *Face of America*. We are known as the wealthy bullies of the world. I wanted to give these children a different face.

When I read posts that spout opinions that war has nothing to do with freedom, I want to suggest otherwise - that there are countries where freedoms don't exist. There was a glorious day when I was in Casablanca and I lifted my camera to rearrange something in my lap. Our driver panicked - really, really panicked. His hand fell deadweight on my camera, his eyes were wide with panic. We were too close to the police station. I could've easily been arrested if it had appeared I was taking a photo of the building. I was clueless.

So many of us take hard-earned freedoms for granted... and sadly, it has taken wars to sustain or gain those freedoms. That is what I believe.

On Memorial Day, I visited with a friend, a retired Colonel of the US Army. He reminded me: There was an army before there was a country.


*****


After Morocco my father returned to the States for two weeks of leave before his 2nd deployment on the USS Montpelier. My research for this ship shows activity mostly in the Pacific, but my father steadfastly claims that he was in the Atlantic. He has WWII memorabilia he's going to send to me. It includes a book about the Montpelier and his time onboard.

*****

I was born in 1947. My father gives me credit for his not being deployed again during the Korean War. I learned this just the other day.

I just haven't been asking the right questions!


*****


My father doesn't have a fancy diploma with a fancy degree from a fancy university. He didn't rub shoulders with important people, but that never made a whit of difference to me. He was kind and sweet and he provided my sister and me with everything and more that he didn't have as a child.

He has always, always been my hero. There is nothing more attractive than humility.





WWII






My Daddy & Me