A Son’s Hero: His Father
With Father’s Day around the corner, I’d like to share my thoughts on my Father … my hero. I grew up in Barre on Onward Street which is up off from Camp Street (in Barre). We were a normal, typical family doing the things that most families do. My Dad worked for the State Highway Department and my Mom stayed at home trying to keep track of me and my two brothers. My Dad mowed the lawn, played catch with us, and drove us to swimming lessons, music lessons and everywhere else we needed to go. My Dad loved to drive and drove us to Florida every winter for a week’s vacation; we were a very lucky family.
I remember when we first started camping; my parents bought a tent that attached to the back of the station wagon. That lasted about two weeks before my Dad decided he had done enough tenting while in the army, so we bought a pop up trailer. My Dad was a truck driver before entering the service, we picked up the camper and he backed it into our narrow garage on the first try. We went to every Memorial Day parade and every Fourth of July celebration, my Father was very patriotic. Like I said, we were a normal family, or so I thought.
You see, my Father was severely injured as a result of his tank being blown up in France during the D-Day invasion. They amputated his legs in England and then he spent two years in Walter Reed Hospital. During that time he contracted Hepatitis, they removed 20% of his liver and he slipped into a coma. My grandparents (who lived in Washington, Vermont) were notified by Western Union of his grave condition; everyone prepared for the worse. But he survived and moved forward.
To me my Father was normal, he just didn’t happen to have his legs. I never knew any different, I never knew how special he really was.
My Dad met my Mom in Lake Elmore. He had a camp built there and would call the store for his grocery order. My Mom was going to Johnson State College, and worked at the store. She would run the groceries out to the car when he honked the horn … the rest, as they say is history. They are both heroes in my book. My Mom for overlooking the physical aspects, and my Dad for enduring the daily pain and suffering with his head held high. My Father died as a result of his injuries when I was 11.
There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t have a passing thought of him. Every time I hear the National Anthem I think of him. He was a proud member of the VFW and American Legion. If there was ever a reason to be bitter or despise our country I think he had it. But he loved our flag and this country. In his mind they were one in the same. He sacrificed himself for our future, and I never heard him complain. My Father is my hero.
