They Shall Not Grow Old: A Son Remembers His Father on Veterans Day
Alexandria, VA – “They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.”
– Laurence Binyon
September 1914
Every November 11 for years my father would call me. As soon as I said “hello,” his buoyant voice would announce, “Happy Veterans Day, Veteran.” And I would return the same salute. We’d chat for a while and then one of us would entertain the other with a memory from our service days. This would go on for a while, we would laugh, reflect fondly on a comrade or shipmate from the past, and then, wistfully, sign off.
November 11 is Veterans Day in America. Through most of the world, however, it is recognized as the day that World War I, then known as the Great War, ended at the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month. The day has many other titles across the globe. In the Commonwealth countries (the U.K., Ireland, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand) it is known as Remembrance Day and citizens wear a red poppy in memorial. In France it is L’armistice de la Première Guerre Mondiale, and the French wear the bleuet, a small blue flower. Nearly every city, town, village, and even hamlets have monuments and statues to les enfants – morts pour la France – the children who died for France – 1914-18.
I think of Dad often and especially on November 11 because of his traditional phone call. In my mind’s eye I see him in his Army green beret that he wore proudly serving in Laos with the 7th Special Forces. I can feel his crisp fatigues as I hug him on a cold afternoon in Germany when he comes home from the tank park, that hint of diesel fuel in the fibers. I can still smell his aftershave lotion as he got off the airplane from Vietnam. And, on certain occasions we loved hearing him tell his Navy stories. Like many of the Greatest Generation, he served in WW II – as a Seabee in the South Pacific. That made his Army dress uniform a fascination to many Army folks since half his military ribbons were Army and the other half Navy.
In his twilight years he loved playing golf, telling funny stories to the grandkids, and talking with every stranger in every bureaucratic line as if they had known one another for decades. His laugh was genuine and infectious. He was a master raconteur whose stories his friends would beg to hear again even if it were the 50th time around. He was his kids’ greatest champion and would always dance a Foxtrot with our mother at every opportunity.
Dad was not a joiner in the traditional sense. He wasn’t a Jaycee or a Shriner, but he was an enthusiastic supporter of the World War II Memorial in Washington, D.C. We had lived in Fairfax, Virginia, when he was stationed at the Pentagon in the late 60s, and his last visit to the D.C. area was in 2005. On that trip he came to the Pentagon for my promotion ceremony to Captain (Navy) and pinned my eagles on me. He hooked up with his close buddy from Officer Candidate School days during the Korean War. And we walked many of the same paths along the mall that we had trod back in the 1970s. But his most enthusiastic and must-see visit was to the WW II Memorial. I see him dressed in a suit and carrying a cane, proudly sporting his ball cap emblazoned with “World War II – Korea – Vietnam” on it. He kibitzed with other veterans that day, similarly attired – many with ball caps as well from WW II, and these guys swapped stories as if the decades had not occurred. That was the day he shined the brightest.
So, you may think I have confused Veterans Day with Memorial Day. I know the difference. But it’s hard for me not to blend the two. You see, my favorite veteran is gone. And I miss that call.
