Remembering Pearl Harbor and Family Obligations
I was traveling to all the foreign capitals — Los Angeles, London, Houston and now Washington D.C. — so you’ll have to forgive me if I have written as much as I would like. Much of it is in my trusty orange notebook and I haven’t yet gotten a chance to transcribe all of it, much less think about what it all means and whether or not any of it would interest my readers. Who knows?
To be honest with you I really struggle during this time of year. I’m not a Scrooge or anything but I’m often reminded of how difficult an upbringing I had. Oftentimes I speed run through Thanksgiving all the way to February 14th. My wife left me on Christmas Eve a number of years ago so it’s not the easiest to get into the season without that unpleasant memory and while I’m allergic to self-pity I do find it rattling at the windows along with winter wind. I do what I can to get through it but I must confess that it’s a dark, lonely and altogether unenjoyable experience. I tend to watch a lot of movies, read some good books, listen to some music and journal about what I did in the past year and what I expect to do in the following. I have a few family members that are treated for depression but I’m not one to take pills. Just endure. You can and will get through this. Your family has faced worse anyway.
Events conspire to bring me back in. Worse yet one of my cousins passed away of a heart attack at 58 years old. He was a wonderful soul and I have to say that I found it extremely difficult to hear the news. Apparently being a marathon runner isn’t enough and he leaves behind two children in their twenties. Difficult stuff.
In the midst of all that, though, I’m very grateful for the friends I have in London, Los Angeles and Houston who have opened their homes to me. I’ve learned a lot over the many years I’ve lived by myself now. One of the great things about being American is that no one will ever let you be alone on Thanksgiving. Despite whatever material success I may have or have had I’m often reminded of how truly blessed some people are. It’s the people who make our lives meaningful.
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Speaking of which, I mark every Pearl Harbor Day by visiting my grandparents in Arlington National Cemetery. Sometimes I go on my grandmother’s birthday (December 9th) or on the anniversary of her death (December 5th).
Were it not for my grandmother’s birthday it’s doubtful I’d be here. My grandfather swapped his duty roster with another officer so that he could spend my grandmother’s birthday with her.
“I lost all of my men — four junior officers and all the men in my division — and I don’t suppose I would have been here today if I had been aboard the ship,” my grandfather told The Tulsa Tribune.
From what I understand my grandfather spent the better part of his life convinced that his rheumatoid arthritis was somehow punishment for his having cheated death.
My uncle Stephen’s birthday is almost nine months to the day of the eve of Pearl Harbor. Stephen later joined the Navy and the CIA and he was at the Gulf of Tonkin during that famous incident. Uncle Stephen is still with us but having suffered a few stokes he’s a little worse for the wear. It won’t be long before he joins his brother — my eldest uncle — on his reward.
Like my mother who graduated as the valedictorian of Tulsa High, my uncle, too, was something of a prodigy.
In the end we all end up in the same place. The test is whether or not there’s anyone there who will remember to leave us flowers.
