On september 17th, 1915, a baby boy was born in a house in McLean Virginia, the youngest of seven children, and soon the favorite of his siblings. He grew up in a world of bright minds, and hard workers. He became a Chemist, and at the age of twenty, he lay in a tent, at the end of basic training, on a quiet Sunday, listening to the radio. It was December the seventh, 1941.
That young man volunteered for OCS, the next day, and was commissioned only ninety days later. He went to Africa, and eventually back to the United States. As he served in the Ordinance Corps, helping prepare the Army for the invasion he was invited to a dance, held by the base Officer’s Wives Club. There he met the young daughter of West Point graduate far over his own rank.
She had come with another officer, that evening. She chose to spend her evening in the elevator, dancing with this much older lieutenant, hiding from her date, and the General, her father. Her father was not particularly pleased with her choice, and her mother was more outspokenly against the idea. Not long after that, they were married, and he went back to the war. She went to live in the unaccustomedly modest quarters available to the wives of newly promoted Captains.
In the end, her parents learned to like the young man now a newly discharged Reserve Officer. Their first grandchild, a daughter, was probably influential in that change of attitude. The impending arrival of a second child caused a dramatic change of plans. The Captain put back on his uniform, and returned to active duty. The wars and the children continued to come, two more of the first, and four more of the second.
In 1965, with twenty years of service, in three combat zones, and a family of six children, the still young Colonel, and his still very beloved wife left military life, and he became a Chemistry teacher, which had been his intent all along. He taught, and became involved in the civilian community, and raised his children to think, and think for themselves. Much to his amazement, they all learned to do exactly that, and came upon outlooks, and opinions on life widely divergent from his own, and each other. They had joys, and tragedies, disputes, and bonds of love. And they lived happily.
Grandchildren began to come into their lives. The teacher, himself raised in the unchallenged racism of the south in the first half of the last century, found himself the grandfather of children of every race on the planet. But mostly, he was the grandfather of his grandchildren. Everyone changes. Some do it grudgingly, but now and then, you see someone do it with joy, and love.
The Colonel, and His Wife worked with young students for twenty years more, and then they retired a second time, and went off to build a house. They built it all themselves, with their own hands. Every block, every board, and every shingle. A labor of love, and a life of labor. Time passed, and joys and sorrows too many for a short story crowded the years.
Today the Colonel took one last quiet breath. His family is grieved, but is not willing to let go of the many joys of his life, and the legacy of fine people he helped come into the world, and grow to responsible adulthood. His wife survives, saddened for herself, but quietly accepting that he chose to forgo tedious extensions of life, at the cost of adding unhappy months eighty nine years of quiet happiness. He is survived by many good people, who remember his unfailing attention to duty, and loving willingness to help everyone he loved.
I love you dad, more than I have ever been able to say.
Tris
