Pride

I was in college during most of the Vietnam war. The draft board called me home from school to take THE physical. I knew I had no interest in diving headfirst into a rice paddy especially since I was a self righteous anti-war liberal. I think it had something to do with my draft number being dangerously low. Whatever the reason, I knew I wanted to go back to school for the basketball season. My dad was a hard nosed policeman who used to lecture me on the benefits of voting for Barry Goldwater and Richard Nixon and in full support of the war. Our arguments often ended with my Mom scolding both of us to “get along”. But when dad found out I was called in for my physical he pulled me aside one night and for the first time in my life, actually showed me a sensitive side. Leaning into me, he whispered, “you know son, I support this war but if you get drafted and want to go to Canada…I won’t be mad at you.” We talked about it for a long time that night and mutually agreed that if drafted I had to go but we both hoped it would never come to that. I wanted desperately to get off the hook. I ended up failing the physical due to knees whose cartilages disappeared; victimized by 20 years of sports. Luckiest day of my life, I thought. Back to school… parties, fraternities and beer. Ahhh, the good life.
A couple of years ago my 85 year old Dad mentioned he would like to go back to Pensacola, Florida to the Naval Base there to visit the air museum so he could see the plane he used to fly as a rear gunner. So, a couple of Continental tickets later, Dad, brother Tom and I land in Florida to visit the air museum. Bright and early we jump in the rental car and as we make our way to the base, we look out over a sea of cars overwhelming the base. "This is worse than the congestion in Jersey, we agreed." The sign at the entrance read “Air Show today-Thunderbirds”. We later read in the paper there were 150,000 people there. Well, the parking was at least a mile or two from the entrance. I noticed a Navy Shore Patrolman on a bike directing traffic. Rolling down the window, mustering all the friendly courtesy and respectful tone possible, I told him I had an 85 year old Navy veteran in the car and asked if I could maybe drop him at the gate, then drive the car back to the parking lot. Leaning into the car he said to Dad, “Navy veteran sir?”. “Yes”, my Dad answered, …”Chief Petty Officer, rear gunner”. The SP looked my Dad in the eye then said to me, “Please follow me”. Pedaling his bike, he guided us through the maze of cars winding almost endlessly right up to the front gate. He pointed to the first space outside the gate, looked at me and said, “just park there sir.” I said, are you sure? He replied, "The admiral won’t mind sir". Quickly parking the car and thrilled at our good fortune, my Dad slowly unwound his creaking bones out of the car, looked up at the Naval officer and said, “thanks”. The officer let his bicycle slide to the ground, stood firm and full at attention and saluting my father said, “It’s an honor sir”. It was the proudest I’ve ever been of my dad. Marveling at the loyalty and brotherhood this young officer seemed to feel for my dad and this WWII generation, I thought back to how lucky I felt failing that physical so many years ago. Suddenly, I felt a little less lucky.