FAMILY TIES

My Dad is an ardent history buff with a zeal for genealogy. He frequents cemeteries and libraries, and combs through town records from Bangor to Beaufort. He traced our family lineage all the way back to the Mayflower, witch trials that preceded Salem, and war heroes from every major conflict since the Boston Tea Party.

When we were younger, he would regale my sister and me with stories from America’s and our own family’s history. “That’s the house where Grandpa Sherm raised your grandmother and her brother Harry. He came back from the Great War and walked with a limp because they never got the bullet out of his leg.” He walked us through towns in Western Massachusetts and pointed out “That’s where Sojourner Truth bought a house from your four greats-grandfather, Samuel Hill. He was the only banker who would give her the loan for a mortgage.”

At seventeen years old, I asked my Dad to sign a waiver so that I could join the Air Force, and he said no. I was surprised but I didn’t let it dissuade me. When I turned eighteen, I joined anyways and went to Basic Training and Tech School.

In the years that followed, our relationship was as good as it had always been and I never dared to ask my Dad why he wouldn’t sign my waiver. I always assumed he just didn’t believe I would be tough enough. I prided myself on proving him wrong and having a successful career. And he seemed to quietly be proud I had proved him wrong too. He would share my successes with his friends on Facebook, and we would have visits when both our schedules allowed.

He bequeathed to me some sacred family artifacts from his Uncle Harry Sherman, who was my Grandmother’s only brother. He was a tail gunner on a B-17 in World War II. At the tender age of 21, shortly after he participated in D-Day, he was killed in action flying over the Netherlands. He received a purple heart, of course, and a certificate from Hap Arnold himself, thanking my Great-Grandmother for his service and sacrifice.

Recently, my Dad and I were having a heart-to-heart. His guard was down, and he was telling me how proud he is of both my sister and me. I saw the opportunity to ask my buried, burning question and I went for it!

“Dad. You’ve always said you’re proud of my military service, but you didn’t want to sign the waiver when I was seventeen. Did you think I wouldn’t be able to do it?”

I heard his voice crack as he fought back tears and explained “No, that wasn’t it at all. I didn’t want you to go, because throughout our family’s history, we’ve lost someone in every major conflict since the revolutionary war. And I didn’t want our next loss to be you.”

I didn’t know what to say. In the moment, I think I just replied, “Oh.”

I feel a deep sense of pride and connection to my family, having served my country and followed in their footsteps. I have my Uncle Harry’s War Medals and uniform photo proudly displayed in my home. I imagine what Uncle Harry might have done if he’d come home from the war. He would probably have a beautiful wife, some precocious children, and a collection of cool stories.

The gift of extra time and years on this earth after military service is truly a blessing. I hope and pray that my life choices and pursuits would make my ancestors proud.