Monday, May 28, 2012

Purple heart (for Dad)

I drove by the local cemetery this morning.  It was filled with uniforms, both military and boy scout.  There I saw flag upon flag, many women with hats.  Dad died fifteen years ago at the same age that his father died (73).  Grandpa served in WWI, Dad in WWII.  Neither ever said much about their experiences.  Perhaps we didn*t ask enough.  Perhaps I was too young to even comprehend.

He always said his purple heart
Was for
Falling off a truck
In Europe.
Every month the disability check came,
A teeny tiny amount
For an injury
I never saw.
I remember we never made it
To World War II
In American History.
Instead we had endless lessons
On the Industrial Revolution.
Then the end of the school year came.
We almost entirely
Skipped the 20th Century.
Here it is the 21st.

All grown up
I learned the purple heart
Was not just awarded
When he fell off a truck
In Europe.
The truck was bombed.
It blew up.
He was the only one who survived.
My father always had a gift
For understatement.
My father always was a gift
In understated ways.

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