Debating my Father

I'm getting excited about the presidential debate coming up this evening. All this political talk reminds me of my dad. He was so patriotic and encouraged me to stay on top of the issues and to get out and vote intelligently every year. As a World War II veteran, he felt it was his American duty to know the candidates and to keep democracy alive by participating in the election process, as much as possible.

It was a source of amusement to me though that we always ended up supporting different candidates. He tried so hard to convince me of his party's merits and just couldn't understand how a daughter of his could think so opposite of him politically. I really wish it hadn't ended up that way. I would have loved sharing his views and opinions. But after all, part of the democratic ideal is the freedom to choose our leaders.

I'm glad for my heavenly Father too and the freedom He gives us to choose whom we will follow. It must pain Him when we choose the enemy's side, but His love is still there for the sinner. And, just like my dad, God will continue to persuade us to His way of thinking, right up to the very end.

The Price of War

My mother's favorite holiday was Christmas. But as much as she loved that holiday, my father hated the one we celebrate today, the Fourth of July. Not for what it stood for, of course. A World War II veteran, no one was more patriotic than my dad. He flew a flag in front of his house all year round. What he dreaded about the Fourth was the noise that accompanied it. All the firecrackers that seemed to plague their peaceful world for days before and after the designated day.

I thought for years that all the noise just made him nervous. Their little dog was jittery too, and there was fear of sparks landing on their roof, like they did one year. Besides, as a former law enforcement officer, it bothered him that city ordinances about safety were overlooked, and he couldn't abide anyone getting by with breaking the law.

But then one year my dad told me the main reason fireworks bothered him. He said he had heard plenty of noisy gunfire when he was in Japan right at the close of the war. I never thought of my father being in that much danger during the war, because his ship arrived right after the bombing of Hiroshima to help with reconstruction of the country. He had enlisted at the end of the war, when he was only fifteen (he didn't need a birth certificate for the Army, if his mother signed some papers). After some thought though, and reading more about the history of the times, I realize he was in quite a bit of danger there in Japan. We Americans were still the hated enemy for years following the destruction caused by the atom bomb.

So, now it makes more sense to me why my dad did not like firecrackers. And I'm sure that anyone who has been in a war-torn country feels the same. The noise and sparks represent war. I know they bring enjoyment for their beauty and are something to look forward to during a long, hot summer, but let's not forget what they represent. They represent the price that a few have had to pay for all of us to have the freedoms we have. The price of war. There's no glory in the trenches, even today. Let's remember.

my dad in Japan