Memorial Day

We all have our heroes.  This man is mine:

My daddy is the youngest of three brothers,
all of whom served in World War II

Here he is, Lloyd Harris, in the Navy.
No wonder my mother fell in love with him!

Here they are on their wedding day,
Lloyd and Carlene, 1945, who were married
for 57 years

As I listen to memorials on NPR today, and hearing snippets of music from the World War II era, I'm thinking of Lloyd and Jimmie and Lyle, three brothers of what has been called "the Greatest Generation," and I'm thinking of their mother--whom we called Mama Jim--who waited for their return.  All three returned.  The oldest, Lyle, is still living.

As a mother to a son who's a firefighter, who felt an earthquake in my heart when I heard that an Oklahoma firefighter perished this weekend in a flood rescue, I can think of all the mothers of that era who waited for word from their sons who were far away and unreachable by texts or e-mails or phone.

The men of that war were not warriors by nature--they were patriotic, practical and hopeful men who'd been through the poverty of the Depression. War came their way just as floods and fires do, and they did what they had to do.  My hero is the man who was always available to us.  ("You can call me any time, day or night.") He was funny and wise and sweet.  He was forever memorable to those of us who love him.