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I thought I remembered that about you. I lived in Suffolk for about 22 years and now moved back to Maryland near my family. I imagine I will end up in NoVa.
Good morning, Robyn. That was a wonderful tribute to a fellow veteran and here's a salute for your father from this veteran who is not just the son of a WW II veteran but the father, nephew, cousin and grandson of other combat veterans. It's a proud tradition in our family and does include some losses.
My father died 20 years ago, a year after my mother did. I think of both of them often and especially of my father on this day. He was a career Marine Corps aviator who also flew in the Pacific during WW II and again in Korea. Growing up on and near Marine Corps and Naval air bases and seeing him off to work in his uniform every day helped lead to my own near career of 12 years. I was tremendously proud of Dad and still am.
It's lovely that you have such fond memories so eloquently expressed. Would that the children of all veterans were so caring, attentive and proud.
What a beautiful and poignant story, Pikantari. I'm so glad I took the time to read it.
My dad was a WWII vet - USMC sergeant in Japan. Two weeks after the bombing of Nagasaki, he was in the midst of the destruction, rescuing survivors. I can't begin to imagine the horrors that he saw. He didn't talk about such things until the summer before he died. Until that time, he had only told a few funny stories of his service years.
One of Dad's funny stories was about his pet monkey. When he was in Japan, he won a spider monkey in a poker game. He wasn't aware at first (or so he said ) that the monkey had been trained to steal. Each night his diminutive buddy would go about the Marines' sleeping quarters and steal cigarettes and candy. Dad would wake up each morning with a new stash of goodies, deposited under his blanket. The two were inseparable for about a year, and the monkey would often ride along on Dad's shoulders when the men were marching. It must have been a sight to see!
Dad died of cancer in January of 1998. To the end, he was extremely proud to be a veteran of WWII and loved his country with all his heart. RIP, Dad.
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On this night before Veterans Day I am thinking of my father. Growing up, I always knew my father was a veteran, but I never knew that is what it was called. All that I knew was that he was in the Army. It was not until I stood upon his grave that I realized he was actually in what was then known as the Army Air Corps. I heard many stories as a little girl but as an adult, I am pretty sure he harbored many more stories. I have no idea what his eyes saw. All I ever caught was the smallest of a glimpse. I heard of some of the fun times he and the other soldiers had. I never heard stories of war or of death.
As a little girl I remember sneaking into my fathers old cedar chest and looking at all of his ribbons and medals, running my fingers across their coldness. I wondered what they all meant. I had no idea. I would put on my fathers old army coat. The sleeves ran way beyond the reach of my fingers and the whole coat nearly came to my knees.
My dad was my hero. He was my everything. I would have much rather been outside building something or tinkering on something with him than be out in the neighborhood. He was my best friend as a child, and I must say, I was a daddys girl.
He was quite a bit older when I was born. My father was fifty-two years old and my mother was thirty-eight years old. I can only smile, because laying here right now I bet they wondered what in the world they were getting themselves into. My smile now is tremendous, because I am so happy for all that they have given me in life. Though they are both gone and have been for many years, I still learn from them. I can look at my son, and for just a small second, I imagine that he probably looks quite a bit like my father did at that age.
As I grew a bit older and started learning about World War II in school it all started coming together. I saw pictures in books. Is this what my dad was talking about? He doesn't know anything about that stuff! No way! He's my dad! I probably thought he hadn't been anywhere I hadn't been, but he had. He had been all over the place. He had seen many things. Many people.
To me he was just my buddy, my daddy. He was the one who kissed my boo-boos. He was not a soldier. He was my best friend. He was the one I held hands with as we walked down the isles in the hardware store. He was the one who taught me how to use a level. He was the one who made me never want to do a thing to disappoint him.
As I started getting a little older and seeing a little less of him and a little more of my friends he started to be the one who would embarrass me in front of my friends or at the store. It's so funny to think of it now, because he didn't do near the things I do in front of my kids, yet they are never embarrassed. For this I am happy.
My father was always big on cards. Birthday cards, Christmas cards, just because cards. He called me Robbie. I still have every card he ever gave me. As I got older and became a teenager, my name went from Robbie to Robyn to yes, Wild Thang. I get the biggest kick out of that. I guess that happened around the time I was 14-15.
By that time I realized that my father was yes, in a very important war. I still did not really know the term Veteran. My God if I knew at the age of fifteen that I would lose my father just six years later I would have held off wanting to grow up so fast. If I knew then what I know now it would all be different. I would have stayed a daddys girl for a little while longer. I would have spent more time with him going fishing, and less time with my boyfriend doing whatever unimportant thing I thought was so important.
But I didn't, and we can't go back and change what has already happened. Soon enough, I had my own child, a son. My father called him Scooter but would never hold him. I remember the day it was time for me to come home from the hospital. I called my father in tears. He said, "Whats the matter, Robbie?" I could hear the concern in his voice. I told him it was time for me to come home but the baby had to stay. My heart was breaking enough, and my fathers heart broke for me that day as well.
Sometimes I think back to my sons infancy and wonder if my father knew he was sick then, and that's why he never held my baby. I finally sat near him one day with Alexander and put him in his arms. My dads face lit up like it was Christmas. It has been many years since that day, but it is forever etched in my mind, and I won't soon forget it. I could not begin to know the day it was but I think my little scooter was about eight months old or so.
It was getting near a time I never thought I would see, at least not for years. My father took care of me all these years, now it was my turn to take care of him. He was sick. My father had cancer and we lost him three months later.
I have so many wonderful memories of my childhood and teenage years, even ones from adulthood. I never wanted to disappoint my father. About a week before his passing I was helping him to try and eat something and his eyes looked so dull. He had always had the prettiest blue eyes. Alexander has them. He looked up at me and said, "Robbie, do you think I am gonna make it?" I sucked in my tears and I said, "Of course you will, Daddy....."
That day was like yesterday, when in reality it has been almost seventeen years.
When I am walking along and I see a veteran, most often I will go to them and shake their hand, usually when I am alone. When I see someone all these years later who was in WWII, you better bet I am going to go to them. I understand now more than ever what a veteran is.
My father was a veteran of the United States Army Air Corps and served in World War II and I am the proudest daughter you will ever know.
RIP Robert Scott Nease. You will be loved and missed for all of my days....
Happy Veterans Day.
I almost didn't finish reading your tribute. Kinda hard to when you're crying.
Good morning, Robyn. That was a wonderful tribute to a fellow veteran and here's a salute for your father from this veteran who is not just the son of a WW II veteran but the father, nephew, cousin and grandson of other combat veterans. It's a proud tradition in our family and does include some losses.
My father died 20 years ago, a year after my mother did. I think of both of them often and especially of my father on this day. He was a career Marine Corps aviator who also flew in the Pacific during WW II and again in Korea. Growing up on and near Marine Corps and Naval air bases and seeing him off to work in his uniform every day helped lead to my own near career of 12 years. I was tremendously proud of Dad and still am.
It's lovely that you have such fond memories so eloquently expressed. Would that the children of all veterans were so caring, attentive and proud.
Goodmorning Curmudgeon, and thank you so much for your post! Thank you for sharing about your family, your parents....
I believe that stories like these, like ours, make up the lifeblood of all that is good in the world..... I embrace them.
What a beautiful and poignant story, Pikantari. I'm so glad I took the time to read it.
My dad was a WWII vet - USMC sergeant in Japan. Two weeks after the bombing of Nagasaki, he was in the midst of the destruction, rescuing survivors. I can't begin to imagine the horrors that he saw. He didn't talk about such things until the summer before he died. Until that time, he had only told a few funny stories of his service years.
One of Dad's funny stories was about his pet monkey. When he was in Japan, he won a spider monkey in a poker game. He wasn't aware at first (or so he said ) that the monkey had been trained to steal. Each night his diminutive buddy would go about the Marines' sleeping quarters and steal cigarettes and candy. Dad would wake up each morning with a new stash of goodies, deposited under his blanket. The two were inseparable for about a year, and the monkey would often ride along on Dad's shoulders when the men were marching. It must have been a sight to see!
Dad died of cancer in January of 1998. To the end, he was extremely proud to be a veteran of WWII and loved his country with all his heart. RIP, Dad.
Hi PJ8! I am glad you took the time to read it as well, if not, I may not have heard YOUR story!
Oh wow, I can imagine that monkey. This is why I love to read. You can place yourselves within the story, seeing everything as though it were happening right before your eyes.
I am so sorry for your loss, but so grateful for the time your father gave to our country, and since I cannot thank him, I will thank you....
Thank you...
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) that the monkey had been trained to steal. Each night his diminutive buddy would go about the Marines' sleeping quarters and steal cigarettes and candy. Dad would wake up each morning with a new stash of goodies, deposited under his blanket. The two were inseparable for about a year, and the monkey would often ride along on Dad's shoulders when the men were marching. It must have been a sight to see!
