You hated fireworks; they reminded you of the “screaming meemies.”
You loved parades; they reminded you of the day you earned Corporal for having marched your unit into parade for the dignitaries as lead bugler.
You loved your independence, yet treasured home – the dry roof over your head, the three, square, home-cooked meals a day, the wife, the children…..and, “the shop”, your place of business that you established as barber.
But, you never forgot the War.
Nobody could come up behind you without warning, be it light or dark, without being whirled upon with that black dart from eyes which knew the threat of momentary death. You could still see the faces of those who dropped beside you in the midst of battle. Eighty-some years later, you could still see. You could still feel the cold snow at the Bulge, surrounded by the enemy, and the tickle in your throat as you vainly suppressed a cough. You always remembered, because you could not forget.
Yet, miraculously, those eyes never lost their depth or their twinkle. That throat never lost its tuneful warble. Those hands never lost their tender touch. You felt the everlasting arms of Providence, and were carried through.
I bow to your memory today, and every day. Fathers are many, and daughters abound; but, you were a standout, and I love and honor you forever.
XOXO, Ruth Ann
© Ruth Ann Scanzillo
all rights. Thanks, Dad.