Meet Mom and Pop, both veterans of WWII. They volunteered, they did their bit, they loved America. They griped about stupid things politicians did, but then that is part of being an American, isn’t it?
Mom never left U.S. soil, she seemed to think being in the military was interesting; she got to meet different people. She told about asking a waitress in Louisiana for a piece of pie and the waitress said, “How do you get PIE out of pee-AH-ee?” So Mom asked for a piece of “pah” instead.
Pop was in North Africa and ended up in Italy. He didn’t talk about it, except to answer my questions about the desert (it’s very cold at night) and Arabian horses (they were smallish, pretty and tough.) For a man who hated violence, how did WWII affect him? I do not know.
How did they raise five kids and end up with four pro-war sons and one anti-war daughter? From Pop I learned honesty and fairness and a reverence for life. From Mom I learned that it is always wrong for the strong to hurt the weak, and it is wrong not to protect the weak if it is in your power.
I wonder what my brothers learned that they never met a war they didn’t like? That they wave the flag and demand support for the troops no matter what and get a warm glow in their heart when they see a beautiful woman veteran in cut off jeans with a mechanical leg? (“Like” if this makes you proud-what do I do if it makes me sad?) My brothers suspect I’m anti-American.
How did Mom and Pop raise five kids and end up with four pro-war sons and one anti-war daughter?
Maybe that’s part of being an American, too: thinking for yourself and dissenting from the majority. Maybe I’m just as “American” as they are.