Returning

So many returning veterans of Viet Nam, the Gulf War and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan suffered horribly from their experiences.

I remember my father returning home from his service in World War II. He and all my uncles had to cope with what they went through. Mostly they didn't seem to say much about it at all.

Uncle Larry was killed in the War. His death was a fact, a gaping hole in our family. Uncle Don chose to stay in England with his new English wife - which had something to do with an old American wife. But not a whole lot was said about either of these losses - at least not in front of us kids.

My other uncles, Joe, Philip and Raymond and especially my dad, just seemed awfully happy to be home.

My parents moved into a government housing project we called Happy Homes. It was offered to ex GIs and their families. Barracks on Wright Patterson Air Force base were converted into apartments. They were small, cheerful and cheap. The idea was to enable veterans to get restarted, go to school on the GI bill or save enough to buy a house

We watched our dads and uncles pack away their dog tags and their medals. We children got to play with the souvenirs they brought home. We wore their caps at jaunty angles. The boys staged battles, happily killing Japs and Krauts.

We especially loved the parachutes. We made tents or cut them up for costumes for Halloween. Uncle Raymond had souvenirs from the Germans. One was a Luger pistol. No one asked how he got it.

Each of my uncles had his own particular story to tell. We were warned not to ask Uncle Philip any questions because he had been among the first Americans to enter the camps. “He doesn't want to talk about it,” Daddy said.

Did they get together after we went to bed? Did they gather in bars or at the track to really talk over their experiences?

All I can remember of Daddy's stories was his often repeated account of jumping into the Pacific after his troop ship was hit by a kamikaze plane.

"You should have seen it,” he said. “That guy hit us square in the middle. He knew where he would do the most damage. I was eating lunch and before I knew it I was in the water.”

“Was it cold?”

“Oh no, not cold, it was summer in the Pacific, but the water was choppy and we had to keep swimming. We couldn't just float.”

He would stop at this point in his story to say to Mama, “I’m sorry. The watch you gave me when I left was ruined. It was a Bulova and really good.” He never missed this straight line.

And she always responded. “Why didn't you put it in your pocket?”

She would remind us that she actually did say this and we would all laugh before he got to the part about how he was glad he had played hooky from school to go swimming a lot. He and a lot of other guys were in the water a long time and the weak swimmers didn't make it.

“Sharks Daddy - did you see sharks?”

“No sweetie. We knew about them and we were scared they would show up, but as I said the water was choppy and I guess they were busy somewhere else. We were mostly scared because we were hit in the afternoon and we knew rescue operations stopped at sundown. We didn't have anything to hold onto. No rafts, no debris. We just doggie paddled and prayed.”

“I think the guys I was with were the last bunch to be picked up. A rescue boat finally appeared just as the sun was setting. We were dragged on board and we thought everything was ok. We were saved. But then it pulled in really near to another big troop ship. We could see it heaving up and down in the waves. A huge net was lowered down and we were told to jump for the net. There was only one chance. The sea was so full of swells.  A lot of guys missed. I watched them miss. And then it was my turn. You can see I made it.”

“Yeah, Daddy, I sure am glad you made it.”

And that was about it. We learned he was in the Philippines on Mindanao. He manned an ack-ack, an anti-aircraft gun. I looked up the Battle of Mindanao. It was a very long, dirty episode. That was in 1945 so he only spent about two years total in the war. And when it was over, somehow it became known he could cook so he got that job. For a while.

He came home through San Francisco. He loved San Francisco. Mama wanted to meet him there, but it didn't work out.

She would frequently ask him if the Philippino girls were pretty and he would always just laugh.

In his last years when he had Alzheimer’s, he would brighten up at any young woman who looked a bit South East Asian. He would approach and say, “Are you Philippino? You Philippino girls were awfully good to us GIs in the war.”

We would apologize for how it must have sounded. But most of the young women would laugh and pat his arm. People are kind.

Mama said, “I guess it was a long time ago.”

Waking up the first day after heart surgery, he thought he was on a troop ship again in the Philippines. The next day his ship passed by Hawaii. The third day the ship was nearing San Francisco.

Mama said, “At least he’s returning home again.”