My Dad

Word Count: 698



My dad wasn’t a war hero.  He served in Italy during World War II, but he didn’t participate in some daring campaign that dramatically shortened the length of the war.  He stayed in the Army Reserves after the war.  And if the Korean War hadn’t ended just when it did, he was about to be called up and sent overseas—to leave my mom and me to fend for ourselves.

Mother wasn’t happy at that idea.  Because, while my dad had three older, married sisters with families, Mom was the only child of an only child.  She had never held a baby before I was born.  The thought of her being left home alone with me terrified her.  But ‘duty called’.

I don’t think she was very happy about Dad’s continuing on after my brother and I came along.  It didn’t make any difference to my father.  He was staying in the Reserves.

That meant once a month, he would be gone an entire Sunday.  And each summer, my mother, brother and I would go to visit relatives, while Dad reported for two weeks of active duty.  Most years he was able to join us for some of our vacation.  But there were some years when he couldn’t. 

He was required to continually take correspondence courses from the War College.  This meant lots of nights and weekends when he was locked in his study, instead of spending time with us.  And my mom wasn’t always understanding about it.  But Dad felt it was important—and that was the end of it.

I graduated from high school on a Sunday.  And, as luck would have it, it was a ‘Reserve Sunday’.  He arrived by staff car, at the last moment, in full uniform.  In fact, most of my graduating class and their parents in the bleachers thought he was the speaker.  But I knew.  I understood how much effort it had taken to juggle both things. 

He worked hard and gradually rose up to the rank of Lt. Colonel but by then the military was downsizing.  I know it disappointed him.  But there was nothing he could do and no promotion meant only one thing—retirement.

He took it as gracefully as he could.  But I know it saddened him. Retired military could shop at the commissary, and one of the reasons he and Mom moved to Tucson was because of the air force base.  And, Tucson isn’t far from Sierra Vista, and Fort Huachuca—the base where the last company of American Calvary.

He always wanted to see those horse soldiers.  One February when I was in Tucson visiting, the Calvary was advertised to perform at the Tubac Art Festival.  We drove down, at the crack of dawn, and parked at the field.  There was no one around. 

He walked the field in anticipation.  Nothing.  He leaned against the car.  Still nothing.  It got later and later, and once by one the others in our group wandered off to see the art show.  Not Dad.  He sat on the front of the car, and eventually slid down to the ground, where he sat pouting.  The U.S. Cavalry would not let him down.  But they did.  No one else came to watch.  And the Cavalry never arrived.

Heartbroken, he returned home and typed out a curt note to the Fort Huachuca commander expounding his disappointment.  A week later he received a letter from commander, apologizing.  He went on to explain that someone from the festival had called and asked if the cavalry had the day open, but had never sent in the required written request.  It explained their absence, but it didn’t make him feel better.

It took some doing, but he managed to wrangle a pair of plots at the Fort Huachuca cemetery.  So, a few weeks after we got Dad’s ashes back we made the forty-five minute drive down to Sierra Vista and took him to his final resting-place at Fort Huachuca.  He had a full military funeral, the folding and presentation of the flag and a twenty-one gun salute. 

So in the end, my Dad—a true patriot is with his beloved cavalry.