thirteen years ago my sweet poppo died on memorial day. his very last day on earth, it was during the wee hours of the night into the very early morning that he changed planes of existence, devastating those of us left behind.

my dad – at that time – was 91, with baggage he had dragged behind him for over sixty years since his time in the army air corps, shot down during the ploesti oil field raids in romania, taken prisoner-of-war in bulgaria.

he had been a somewhat quiet man during much of his life. he didn’t share – in detail – of his time missing-in-action or as a prisoner in a dank cell – until i was in high school. it was a lot to carry and, once home from the war, the post-traumatic stress was impactful on the rest of his life. post-traumatic stress is like that. it takes a toll in so many ways.

as i think about him today – and honor his dedicated service to this nation and the lives of those who died in service – i know – without even a singular doubt – that he would be horrified at the present state of affairs here and now.

his commitment to bettering others’ lives – fighting fascism – preventing human misery – was steadfast…enough so that he folded himself into the engineer gunner position of b-24 boomerang betsy and fought against all that was trying to destroy that which he believed in – the values of democracy. he would not align himself with anything that would not defend or advance these ideals. he would push back against any and all attempting to subjugate dominion over the freedoms for which he had fought.

my sweet poppo – were he to be here – would be sickened to watch cowardly leaders capitulate to the corrupt agenda to dismantle democracy. he would be heartbroken to watch people he loved abdicate all decency and conscience to a singular man whose grandiose narcissism seeks to vindictively avenge his enemies and instill an autocratic state.

my dad – even from wherever he is – would never tolerate such vileness. he had seen enough suffering to last him forever. he would be disgusted by an administration that is glorifying the richest – lining their pockets with the needs of the poor. he would remind, “you can’t take it with you.”

no. you can’t take it with you. power and control and ultra-wealth and digital coinage and oil and mining fields and real estate and gold-gilded accoutrements and fancy cars and 747s – the stuff of cold-hearted greed doesn’t make the cut from grandiose living to that other dimension.

but legacy follows you everywhere.

eleanor roosevelt asks, “when will our consciences grow so tender that we will act to prevent human misery rather than avenge it?”

now is the time.

and my dad? well, he reminds us all. “remember the little engine that could?” his words inscribed in a copy of the book, “you can too.”

my dad. my hero.

“o beautiful for heroes proved

in liberating strife,

who more than self their country love

and mercy more than life.”

(america the beautiful)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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