Photo Friday: Remembering Mal

April 1st is an anniversary long forgotten by most. This year marked the 66th anniversary of the initial landing (invasion) of Okinawa by the United States. This time of year is always difficult for my father. During WWII, it was close to this date that he lost his best friend. Mal died aboard a ship, off of a little known island. But he wasn't alone. My father held him as he died. Although we don't know the exact date of his death, April 1st marks it none-the-less.

The night before the anniversary, my father had a terrible, war-related nightmare. So, to remember Mal, I took him some flowers. He said it is the first time anybody's ever given HIM flowers. I chose white carnations because they are a symbol of remembrance. Before leaving, I took one from the bunch and stood it in the grass at the base of the flagpole in my parent's front yard. The next time I saw it, my father had made a makeshift vase for the flowers and duct-taped it to the pole. A fitting tribute, I think. Nothing is perfect in war and neither is it for those who return from war with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. A duct-taped plastic cup was exactly right.

Even all these years later, Mal is not forgotten.

Time in a Film Canister

The grandchildren of recently deceased Englewood,Colorado man found "time in a bottle" after his passing. But in this case it was time in three old film canisters. As Brian Williams reports here; http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032619/#27650485 they had the film developed and on it were black and white scenes of dogfights over the French and German countryside. The film is of very good quality and gives a never before seen glimpse of this part of the war.

But there's something missing (as far as I'm concerned anyway. What was the film makers story? Why didn't he share the footage with his children and grandchildren while he was still alive? Where was it stored? What was the story?

So many WWII veterans pass away before telling their story. This story really brings home what seems to be happening more and more. If you know a veteran of WWII, please, please...take the time to hear their story. And then go one step further; write it down. It saddens me to think that this man, who I hope led a wonderful and fulfilled life, didn't share what was behind the lens of the camera before the story was gone forever. So please-take time today, won't you?

Happy Birthday Marines

The Marine Corp was formed on November 10, 1775. Why would someone like me know something like that? Why would I even care? Well, history is far more interesting when you know someone who lived it. My father was a Navy man. He served time during WWII on ships and submarines. But his work in Naval Intelligence, was spent "attached" to the 5th Marines.

So when he invited me to the Marine birthday party, which is essentially a Marine reunion, I agreed to go. My husband is a former Marine and I even convinced my two sons to go. Sitting at a table with my family, were two strangers; women whose husbands were marines, and I realized that it's not just the Marines themselves who feel that comradaree, but the families too. Soon we were talking with each other like long-lost friends.

As we finished up our meal of Swiss steak, potatoes, rolls, brocolli and salad, the program portion of the celebration began. Each Marine was handed a small microphone; they told about their time during the service. I noticed something interesting. The older the veteran, the longer they talked. Why might this be, I wondered. Could it be that the older the veteran, the less likely they have someone who wants to listen to their war stories of long ago? Might this be their only opportunity to remind others of their adventures in the service; their joys, their sorrows, and even a few funny stories? I hope that's not true, but I'm afraid it just may be.

So this Veteran's Day, find a veteran and give them the time to tell their story. Do as they were trained to do; don't avert your eyes; don't look at your watch. Listen---really listen. You just may be giving them one last opportunity to tell their story. It is a gift you give to each other.

photo by Karen L. Alaniz

Wednesdays with Murray - Final Edits

When I picked up Dad this morning, he was in the middle to retelling his harrowing tale about his friend dying in his arms. What caught my attention was the hopeless he feels at the prospect of never having a document to hold that verifies his story. Because he was told that records would not be kept of his naval intelligence work, he really doesn't have any hope that we'll be able to get ahold of records concerning it, no matter how detailed our request is. And maybe he's right, but I hope not.

This morning at breakfast, I brought the paperwork that we started filling out together. Two pages of instructions for one page of filled out form. The branch of service and years the veteran was in the service, determine where you will send your request. I also brought my laptop so I could have Dad read through the letter I wrote to attach to it (we didn't do that last time). I wrote the letter as if he was writing it. I wanted to be sure it was correct.

I left a long blank where there was information I didn't know. One of those blanks was for an injury he sustained. He was sitting on a box of ammunition (I know, crazy-huh?), on the deck of a ship when a Kamikaze hit the water nearby and shrapnel flew through the air. One sharp piece imbedded itself and stuck between my dad's legs. Instinctively, he pulled it out. But it was flaming hot and burned his finger. I remember the scar well. It actually looks like a boomerang shaped tatoo. I suppose soot or something got into the open wound, leaving not a raised scar, but a blue-black one on one of his fingers. In the letter, I sited the incident and asked for medical records concerning it. But I couldn't remember which hand it was.

Dad was reading the letter on my computer when I raised my camera to take a few photos. The one below just happened to be snapped when he said, "It was my left hand."

Anyway- I'm using my WORLD WAR II-A VISUAL ENCYCLOPEDIA http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?isbn=9781855858787&atch=h&utm_content=You%20Might%20Also%20Like edited by John Keegan as a reference for dates of Iwo Jima and Okinawa, as well as a few other things that we are unsure of.

And now we wait and hope (again). If this doesn't work and we again get general records that have no specifics at all, I will look into who I can get to help us. Problem is, Dad does NOT want to go to the V.A. for any reason, and that seems the most logical next step. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's just hope and pray that my letter gets into the hands of someone who cares and wants to spend the time finding what we request. ~Karen

A Chance Meeting- A Powerful Lesson

photo: my front porch where stories are told

We had a low key 4th of July this year. The city park is right across the street. So we made our usual rounds to the many booths set up there. The only thing I bought was a Hawaiian Shave Ice (bubble gum flavored, of course).

Later in the evening, my parents came over for Millionaire Pie (see recipe below). As we sat visiting, my dad told about his day at the park. His story brought tears to my eyes and I really believe it's worth repeating. What a lesson for parents, and for children.

As my father sat eating his lunch, a man with his four little boys passed by. The young dad smiled and said, "Hi." He walked a few steps and then turned and walked back to my father. His little boys followed behind him, looking bewildered. My father's WWII cap had caught his eye and he asked if Dad had been in the war.

After a short conversation, the man turned his attention to his children. He explained what it means to be a veteran. Then with their father's encouragement, the little boys each put their little hand out to shake my dad's. And along with the handshake, each little voice said two powerful words, "Thank You." Last in the line was a little boy of about five.

"Did you get hurt?" he asked innocently.

"Just a little," my father replied.

I am sure that the father of those little boys changed the course of his children's lives forever. We'll never know the story behind it, but suffice to say, six people left that short moment in time, changed.

As the daughter of a WWII veteran, I can't tell you how many prayers have been lifted for my father. Sometimes God's answers don't come with a lightening bolt and a booming voice from heaven. Sometimes His answers are far more powerful than that-like this day when the answer came in the form of a small child.

If you see a veteran, please don't pass by. Your words could be the answer. ~Karen

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I always find it interesting how foods become forever entwined with memories. This particular story was told to me over Millionaire Pie. So just for fun, here's the recipe;

Millionaire Pie

Mix together:

8 oz cream cheese (softened)

1 cup granulated sugar

1- 20 oz can crushed pineapple (drained)

1- 8 oz container Cool Whip

Pour into graham cracker crust and freeze. Enjoy!