I’ve had a pebble in my shoe for some time.

A shoulder chip

Bitterness

Anger

A constant low simmering of piss and vinegar

Coming up to close to 40 years. I knew it was there but it had been there so long it became old mental injury. I walked around with it limping, frustrated at times when it got in my head. I’ve been carrying it around with me every single day. Some days I didn’t think about it while I did most others. It started on this day, 38 years ago. My father passed from a massive stroke. It did what a war over Germany and another one in Korea couldn’t do. Took my hero away.

I’ve written how I always felt my dad deserved better than what he received the last 6-8 years of his life and then some.

Lost his business, divorced, working terrible jobs up until he retired and spent his last living years in a in-law suite at my oldest sister’s house. Working as a cook part time in a little pub off of Mauldin rd.

Walked right out of that little pub and fell down. Never to get back up again.

My mighty father. Two time war veteran, widower, master sergeant. Took on a whole gang of Hells Angels with one pistol. Like the scene from Tombstone holding the pistol up to the main transgressor’s forehead and when the young punk said my dad couldn’t “get em all” he replied “no but you’ll be the first one to die.” They all left. Never to return but they had already destroyed my dad’s club and reputation.

He lost it all but you would never know it if you met him. He just kept plugging along doing what had to be done.

He died broke. Not penniless I still have his giant change jar/beer pitcher that reads “I bet you can’t” on my counter that he would fill up with loose change and let me pillage through to use for my candy and comic book purchases.

Small funeral filled with friends and family. I wanted a goddamn parade in his memory. He earned it. He should’ve been on the front of the Greenville News and a huge write up in Bethlehem, PA his hometown. Not an afterthought obit on page 9 behind the lifestyle section. Governor should’ve been there. Hell Reagan should have done his eulogy.

No one did.

I would’ve but I was 14 and doing my best not to let everyone see me cry.

I know my standards are ridiculous and not attainable. Most people probably feel the same about their dad’s passing. I get it. But at the same time I don’t.

It made me bitter. To the fucking bone. I deserved to have more time with him. He deserved to see me and bear hug me good night every night. Not just the weekends. 6 years – two days a week = 600 plus days out of 2200. I slept on a little cot by the foot of his bed those times. Windows stained with Winston reds. I could care less. Smoke em up pop. I’m just happy to hang out with you.

My dad did what had to be done. And he did it without a single complaint. I’m terrible at that. Maybe I’m making up for his silence.

My emotions over the years concerning my father are two very distinct opposites. One is filled with complete adulation from my memories and being around him and the other complete bitterness and anger towards how it ended.

I had no idea how long and heavy that bitterness had become. I had been carrying it along for so long that it just became a part of me. My personality, my essence. My own selfish thoughts and long yearning for retribution. And then this mini-series came out of thin air.

Literally

To say I was excited when I was approached on fb messenger that my father would be represented in a mini series from Spielberg and Hanks was amazing and a little surreal. But to be honest the whole time it was approaching my natural pessimism was that they’d show his face on camera briefly in a group and might see his name appear in a B-17 roster. Still, I was fucking excited. I really wanted people to see what my old man did. What he was a part of. Why he wasn’t just a hero to me but to a whole fucking generation. The greatest fucking generation.

Impatiently I downloaded AppleTV the day I heard the announcement and would log in weekly to see if a preview or trailer would come available soon. Did that for a solid year and a half. Even made some silent prayers to the man upstairs to please let me live long enough to see this series come to life. I’ve watched every episode immediately twice back to back and then I go back and watch it from beginning to end. Episode 1 I’ve watched a dozen times. “There’s dad! He’s flying over occupied France! “He’s preparing for a crash landing!” I can’t believe it! My dad is on TV! He’s actually on the show! I cried. Man did I ever. That kid resembles my father enough to make it as close to real as it can get. I even told my wife if I ever met that actor in real life and he told me to brush my teeth and head on to bed I’d probably do it without thinking about it.

Episode 5. Well I won’t say how many times I’ve watched it but I still haven’t quite got my fill. I lost my emotions on that episode. I got to see, beautifully and masterfully illustrated, what my father experienced on the plane where he was shot and then parachuted to narrowly escape death. The story I asked him to tell me a hundred and one times. It was right there on my TV. I got to experience it. Ball turret, leg injury and all. My wife paused the show to let me regain my composure.

I can’t put into words. I slept on it, full of anxiety and wonder. I woke up and watch it again. And cried again and then one more time. I wrote a little about it and could feel a heavy cloak of emotion and bitterness slowly sliding off of my shoulders. Bitterness that had been imbedded in my soul. My father had been honored on a worldwide scale. People all over get to see what he did to protect his country, his sacrifices, his face.. well sorta.

I finally got to put some visual experiences on those medals that I wake up and smile too every morning. While I was camping and still reeling from episode 5 I texted my wife “Babe, this series just closed so many open wounds and doors almost overnight”.

I had no idea it would do this to me.

What therapy couldn’t do. What sobriety was working on but couldn’t quite close the deal.

I literally feel lighter. Happier and for the first time in a long damn time, at peace with myself.

To try to put into words for what that series means to me

Imagine finding that cliche magical lamp in the sand. Pick it and rub it. That genie comes billowing out and says “you got one wish”

“I wish to see my dad one more time”

“Your wish is my command”

The genie nailed it.

Thanks Steve and Tom. I owe you one.