To My Father

To all who need forgiveness, especially to forgive oneself

As a preschooler, I vividly remember a time that my older siblings were learning about WWII. There was a discussion at the dinner table about the war. My father was silent. My brothers in particular were trying to get him to talk about it.¹ He refused. He never spoke of the war.

As a precocious 4 year old, I ran up to my father and squealed, "Daddy, did you ever kill anyone?"

The entire table grew silent. My father mumbled, "I hope not."

He left the room. My mother scolded me and told me to never ask him that again.

Family lore has it that when my father came home from the war, his mother wanted him to wear his beautiful dress uniform to Church. He refused. He wore his worn brown suit that he had as a teenager. He never went to college because he refused to go on the GI Bill. He never went to a VA Hospital. And, when the Vietnam war flared up, he agreed with my mother that we would move to Canada if any of his sons had a low draft number.²

My father refused to ever let a gun enter our home. He said that even if you killed in self defense, when you take a life, it changes you forever.

My father had many issues. As I tell the story in Paperdolls & Cowboy Boots, several years before his death, at my grandfather's funeral, my father fell on his knees and begged my forgiveness. I was embarrassed. I told him that I'd forgiven him years ago, and he needed to forgive himself.

He spent the next years, trying to earn my forgiveness. He came to my house and dug ditches in my yard to put power to my garage.

Having him around all the time was quite challenging for me. I wasn't used to having him around so much. EVER. One time, I walked out in my back yard and said, "Dad, you can afford to hire someone to do this, you don't need to dig yourself."

With tears in his eyes, he said, “It's the only thing I can do to try to make amends. I have to do everything I can to earn your forgiveness."

I repeated what I'd said at my grandfather's funeral. That I had forgiven him years ago, and that he needed to forgive himself. He gasp out a whisper, "I'm trying."

I handed him back the shovel and said, "Dig away."

Whenever I hear the song, "River" by Leon Bridges. I think of my father. Here's to my dad, and to all of us who need forgiveness:

1. In time I learned that my father was a highly decorated vet, a Sergeant with over a dozen men under his command. He led them through the jungles of the South Pacific and didn't lose a man in his command.

2. Luckily, they had high numbers, and they also joined the Guard or Reserves to decrease the chances of getting sent to Vietnam.