Since or oldest daughter, London, was fourteen she had been very hard to get along with, especially for me. She was opinionated, stubborn, and self righteous; like me. She was also the baby we had in Okinawa, far away from family. Her first flight was on a C130. She lived in Asia and Europe before she was one. She made it easy to meet people. Many Japanese and Chinese were fascinated by her blonde hair and blue eyes. She smiled at everyone.Her first complete sentence told her Mom not to be mean to her sweet Daddy. She did the piggy face for me. She was a magic little elf in our apartment in Germany.The world revolved around the three of us.
The day came to take London to Georgia Southern. I did fine until it was time for us to go. London made it plain that our leaving meant little to her. She was now in college.
I cried so hard that Gale had to drive back. I continued to cry after we got home.
I thought of the day in 1969, when my Father took me to the airport for the first leg of my journey to Vietnam. He rarely put his foot down with Momma, but he told her in no uncertain terms that she would say goodbye at the house.
Dad and I had some problems getting along. I was opinionated, stubborn, and self righteous; like him.
He walked me to the gate, shook my hand, told me to be careful, and walked away. It didn't mean much to me. I was going to Asia! I was on an adventure! I was going to war.
In World War II, Dad was in North Africa. At some point he was in a port city, as were thousands of other Americans. By some chance, he ran into his brother Walter, who was shipping out for Italy. Walter was killed in that bloody campaign. Daddy mentioned him to me one time.
Where did he get the courage to shake my hand at the airport and walk away?
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