“A Father’s Day Carol: A Story Not Just For Dads, But For All Men, Everywhere” (Part 2)

By: Corey Thompson, “The Thirsty Quill”

Enter the Ghost of Father’s Day Present.

It was June of 1944. Through the mist that hurdled the sides of our landing craft, I saw his eyes. He was much younger than I had ever known him, and he looked more afraid than I had ever seen him. The constant bobbing caused his hands to tremble even worse, and I couldn’t tell if it was seasickness or nerves that caused the man to his left to vomit just inches from his boots.

His eyes told the story of a boy, thousands of miles away from home, which was now nothing more than a distant memory. He was about to embark upon the shores of Normandy. His health was good, yet his courage was being pushed to its limit. He heard the humming of bullets just inches above his helmet, yet he kept his eyes fixed upon the horizon.

For a brief moment, no more than a heartbeat, he cut his eyes to me and gave a reaffirming nod. Then he looked forward once more, only to watch in horror as his friends and comrades were being cut down while trying to exit the landing craft. We went over the sides, and down, down, down, into the bloody water below.

I don’t know how it happened, but he lay there, wounded. He would tell me, some decades later, the story over and over again…but I was too young to understand.

I caught a glimpse of his eyes once more. This time, they told a story of love and of freedom. He said to me, “Indeed my Grandson, it was worth it.” He then shared the tales of the day he became a father just five years later, and then a Grandfather nearly three decades after that. In his face I saw my own Dad, and I was reminded of what a great example of a father he has been to me. Then my Grandfather smiled, nodded once more, and the thick smoke rolled between us…

…and I found myself in Italy, pinned down by enemy fire, scared and hungry in the foxhole that might soon serve as my grave. Surely someone would come.

I don’t know how he did it, but I do know why he did it. He was only a cook, but his love for country and devotion to duty forced him to come. Upon his chest was a Star of Bronze, and as he delivered the food under relentless enemy fire, he muttered, “Indeed my Grandson, you’ll have to find the courage to do it too.”

Before I could speak he was on the move once more. Yet, as he low-crawled back across the battlefield, I recognized the face that I see in my own son today, some three generations later. His smile became that of my Mom, and I was reminded of how she taught me to be a good parent through her love. And then all too soon, with his eyes fixed upon the horizon, Granddad was gone, disappearing through the smoke and mud as the distant rumble of tanks drowned out every sound around me.

(To Be Continued)…