The day was
glorious, sunny and warm, perfect for my morning walk. I’d lathered up in
sunscreen, daubed my lips with SPF 15 Chapstick, and donned Lululemon shorts, a
camisole, sneakers, and sunglasses. I grabbed a camera, just in case, my
phone, just in case, and a beach button, just in case. Ready to march.
Stride,
stride, stride. I passed through a shady stretch bordered by thickets
draped in garlands of aromatic honeysuckle and multi-flora rose. Wreathed
in their scent and kissed by soft sea breezes, I broke into the sunshine by the
tennis courts and saw an old man standing at the intersection.
With his hands
on his hips, he watched the white-clad kids at their lessons as they darted
about swinging rackets and chasing balls. He was tiny, wiry, and tan,
clothed in a weathered blue tee-shirt and well-worn khakis. I thought, do I take the left at the stop sign, miss him and march on,
or continue straight and cross his path? If I slowed to meet him, I knew we would walk together, a meander or shuffle, not the march
I’d planned. And I decided, without deciding - for my feet seemed to
chart their own course - to continue straight.
“World War II
Veteran – Navy” was embossed on his faded green cap. His smile embraced
me, so cheerful and pleased to meet a beautiful woman (so he said) along his way. His eyes reminded me of my Uncle Ding’s, pale blue, clear,
and forthright. As we fell into step, I thanked him for his service and
told him that my husband’s father and uncles had served in Italy and North
Africa. He nodded and said, “I was in the Navy. Didn’t want the
Army. Figured, you go down on a ship, you go down. Wasn’t as sure
of what might happen if the Germans got you.”
I said, “So,
what was the deal then, with all you young men rushing to sign up? Didn’t
know better? Bravado? Wanted to fight for the country?”
“Oh, you
wanted to fight for the country, no matter your age. There was this guy I
knew. Big guy. Only fifteen years old. Guadalcanal. Saw
all kinds of action before they found out his age and shipped him home.” He shook his head with a thoughtful smile
tinged with amusement, and perhaps pride at the guts and gall of that boy.
“Myself, I was on a destroyer. Sunk a German sub in the Azores.”
He waved away
my admiration and I tried to picture the young sailor he had been on the deck
of that ship.
He stopped to
face me. “But we don’t learn,” he said sadly. “Korea. Viet
Nam. Iraq. Afghanistan. We had no business entering those
fights. That killing’s been going on for hundreds of years. The
French got involved. The Russians. Got their frickin’ butts handed
to ‘em. Sorry…” he said, apologizing for his language. We were
quiet for a while, and then walked on, both of us watching our feet cross the
asphalt, one slow step at a time.
“D’you think
it’s like the gun thing?” I asked. “More about money than principle? Manufacturers of tanks, planes, and weapons keen
to keep us in?”
Again he
stopped, and I mused that such pauses served as a little break as well as a
point of emphasis. “Big business runs
everything,” he said. “Runs Congress. They shouldn’t be allowed
more than three terms. Who’s that guy? Maybe from Michigan?
Just elected again. Been in office for forty years or something.”
I
snorted. “Lots of people favor term limits, but no one in Congress is in
a big hurry to vote himself out of a job.”
Our stroll had
taken us to the water. Feathered stalks of elephant grass swayed along
the channel to the sea. Red winged blackbirds sang and swooped low; gulls
glided against the blue sky. A burly unshaven man in mud-splattered
workboots and a camo baseball cap was climbing into a truck parked by the side
of the road. He spotted my companion’s WW II insignia and descended to
cross the street to us, his smile broad and hand out-stretched. “Marine
Corps. 1970’s. Thank you for your service.”
“And you for
yours. Viet Nam?” asked my vet.
“Nope.
Came in at the tail end.” He touched the brim of his cap, said, “ Have a
good day” and left us.
“Every day is
a good day,” replied the old man.
Certainly, this
was a good day, with its scent of honeysuckle, roses, and the sea. I
could hear the whoops and shrieks of children playing at the nearby beach over
the rush of surf. The halo of white sunshine was bright on the sandy road
and danced on the water in the channel. Eras seemed to layer and unfold
even as we stood there: the past seen by the clear blue eyes that met mine, my
own childhood, and that of my kids in this place, blurring with this moment of
sand crunching beneath my sneakers and the sun’s warmth on my skin.
We stood at a
crossroad; his path lay over the bridge, mine, straight along the shore.
I hesitated, willing, ready, wishing, to walk further with him. A car had
stopped and the driver graciously waved us on. Suddenly, after all that
meandering, there was no time to pause.
We had to move.
“You go,” said
the old man. “I take my time.” Of course I knew this. We’d
been taking our time together, stopping and talking and stopping and
talking. But I sensed he was ready to part; maybe I’d rushed him even
though, to my sense, I had slowed down.
So I waved at
him and the waiting driver, and, inexplicably teary, marched
away.
8 comments:
Lovely, Lea. I felt as though I was walking right along side you.
Beautiful! We all must take any chance we can to speak to an elder...such lessons to learn about the world and ourselves!
Made me teary just reading it - thank you for going along with him.
Lea, your piece makes me remember how many interesting people there are in the world and their important stories to tell. This gentlemen is indeed worthy of such respect and admiration. You are lucky to have spoken with him! xoox annie
Thanks all...and your points are so true...before too long, there won't be WW II vets to walk with. Dave remembers the WW I vets marching in parades when he was a kid..and at that time, the WW II vets were our fathers and uncles!
Lea, what a beautifully painted recording of a very special story, for posterity. Our fathers and uncles, indeed, the greatest generation. Grasping a sliver of their amazing recollections... so precious. Dad was Navy too, and had the same feeling. RAB XOXO
Lea, As usual I felt like I was with you. I loved how you melded the pride of veterans with the sadness of perpetual war. Great job.
A beautiful woman indeed. And a great listener - really interested. And asking great questions. What a fortuitous meeting for both of you. So many lovely lines in this - that I read twice. xxx Tricia
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