I have a closeted penchant for bluegrass music. As such, I felt the need to devote a chapter to it, in my novel, Second Stories. Some turn up their noses at bluegrass and say “but it’s so whi-iii-ney!” That’s precisely why I like it. I like the whine, and the close harmony.
I am a fan of the Dixie Chicks, may they rest in peace (as a group) because there is speculation that they have broken up and the sisters, Martie Maguire and Emily Robison, remain as the Dixie Chicks and Natalie Maines is out. Back when Ms. Maines was their lead singer, they released an album, Taking the Long Way, and there was a song on that CD that moved me called Silent House. It was written for Natalie’s grandmother who had Alzheimer’s and the message is, I will remember so you can forget.
I thought about that and decided to interview my father about some things I feared he’d forget and I’d never know what he knew unless I asked him while he could still remember. I sat him down, and typed as fast as I could while he talked, about his experiences in World War II.
The story of my Dad’s experience is immortalized in the final Alice chapter that was cut from the book. Clint is the veteran in the story, and his wife has died, and his kids decided he needed to be put into Assisted Living. He is unhappy there, and wants Alice to marry him. Not that it’s a great love affair, but Alice is a young woman at 81 (he’s 90, it’s all relative), and he believes it to be mutually beneficial, since Alice is a widow. None of this is relative to my father, it’s the specifics of the war experience that are his story.
Alice turns down the proposal, of course. Lydia, (wife of Geo, the depressed guy who makes up his own reality and believes it) learns of the marriage proposal and she and her sister-in-law decide that Alice is a “one man woman”. Lydia thinks about that, and it is one of the many reasons she makes the decision to stay with her undeserving husband of forty years.
I thought the story of Alice and Clint added something to the novel, but the editor said out with it. So out it went.
My father was drafted into the army, which was the norm. He was working in the oil fields, single, uneducated. He was drafted so he could be cannon fodder, basically. One of the guys who risks everything and there’s a 50/50 chance you will live through it. You either will or you won’t. 50/50.
The things he told me gave me the shivers, and especially so when I realized that but for his probably being just plain lucky, I might not be here. He was born lucky, I think. Many of the things he’s done in his life have turned out well, when it could have been very different.
He was in the Battle of the Bulge, and never knew, from day to day, if he’d be shot by the Germans. He slept in foxholes filled with water. He woke one morning to see a church maybe 100 yards away, completely destroyed, that had been standing when he fell into the exhausted sleep only a soldier can describe, the night before. It had been bombed while he slept, and it never woke him, he was that tired.
These stories never surfaced before, not when we were kids or afterwards. He didn’t talk about it, and if I hadn’t asked him about it a couple of years ago, I wouldn’t know about any of it. I asked him if he had nightmares, or flashbacks about it. I figured something that traumatic must have caused a lot of sleepless nights.
“No,” he said. “I put it behind me. I didn’t think about it.”
He didn’t think about it. Can people really do that? I think some can. He grew up poor, lived through the depression, and was “raised like a barn cat”. You survived. You did what you had to do. That’s exactly what he did. He did what he had to, and when it was over with, he didn’t think about it. He went on with his life, he got married, raised a family, started a business. He became someone, someone he’d always wanted to be. A business man. A family man. Someone the people in town all knew.
It’s hard for me to comprehend this. How can anyone forget? I think it’s possible for some, and maybe more men of that generation could do it than of ours, but the horrors of war are lost on us civilians, we can only imagine how terrible it is. I guess I’m glad he could forget about what happened back then, and the close calls he had, but I still wonder about it. And know he’ll soon forget forever. I’m glad I asked him about that part of his life. And now that I have done that, I have the memory so he doesn’t have to remember it. Like the Silent House song,
And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
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