The Uniform Told the Story

My father never spoke much about the war. He was a Non-commissioned Officer during World War II. All that I can remember was that he had been hit by machine gun fire during a river crossing operation in France. It left a large bump on his arm that kind of resembles the muscles that Popeye has. Whenever a war movie came on the television, he would leave the room-except for John Wayne WWII movies.

Well, one day, I was touring through the attic.

I always found the attic interesting. Even as a young girl, I would search through the mysterious boxes and find interesting treasures-books long forgotten by my family, some toys I used to have as a baby, baseball cards, old furniture and many more things.

Then one day, after being in the military myself for several years, I decided to explore the attic in my parents new house. It was not as interesting as the attic in my childhood years. Mostly there were books and some of my puzzles.

There was a rack of clothes I never really noticed before. A couple of Brook Brothers suits my father wore when he worked in New York City. And there was my mother's moth eaten fur coat-which I think she only wore once.

Then I saw it.

My father's World War II uniform. I looked at it for the longest time. I guess I never really noticed before I joined the ARMY. I looked at each individual medal:

The Bronze Star.

The Distinguished Service Cross.

The Purple Heart.

Even though my father never talked much about the war, the uniform told the story.