Tag: Rose District (Page 31 of 104)

Friday.

And it’s Ray J’s birthday. I don’t make note of it every year, and I can’t say what has caused me to think about it just now. He showed up in a dream the other night, and maybe that was part of it. It was good to see him again after so long. Ray J. didn’t stay around long enough.

If we had a cake today, it would probably be one of those one-candle deals – not enough space for the true birthday number. Probably a fire hazard. He was born in 1927 and it would have been his eighty-eighth today. I can’t even imagine it. When I was young, I thought he was old, but now I’m older than he ever was. (Probably would constitute a fire hazard to decorate a cake for my years these days…)

Pretty strange – in the dream – with him at the age I remember him back then. Younger looking than I feel, most of the time. But those sleeping events are always a bit out-of-kilter.

He missed out on the whole computer and information age, which has allowed me to know more about him now than I ever did. I have a picture of him up on the bookstore wall; he’s in his US Navy uniform at age eighteen. I’ve been asked if it’s my picture, back in the day, but in truth, when I was that age I wasn’t anywhere near a uniform and I certainly wasn’t thousands of miles from home in the Pacific.

The war was on and Ray J. signed up shortly after his birthday and in short order found himself aboard a destroyer escort taking part in anti-sub sweeps east of Tokyo, part of Task Group 30. They came upon a surfaced submarine and engaged along with another escort class ship, which wound up being the last combat operation of the USS Keller.

After V-J Day, the ship was ordered to Guam and Ray J. transferred to the USS Moore, where he reported to communications after a promotion to Radioman Third Class. I always thought that was a bit ironic, that I wound up having a career in communications as a radioman. (Third-rate, I’m reminded…) It was one of the few stories he told me about his war experiences, spotting enemy planes from the conning tower.

Most of the few tales he mentioned were those feel-good types. The sign above the serving line in the galley: Take all you want, but eat all you take. (Must be where that clean-your-plate edict started.) There was the young fellow who was always cutting himself during the required morning shave, until it was suggested that he take the blade out of his razor. I didn’t need much in the way of shaving at age eighteen either.

These days, the wartime documents can be found on the internet, and I can see copies of the ship’s muster roll, with his name and serial number recorded. Surprisingly, I can also see an image of his gravestone – posted online by someone whose name is totally unfamiliar. Maybe it was an assignment or something. Seems odd to me though, a stranger with a camera standing over my father’s grave, snapping a picture.

Equally odd is the notion that – even as I approach retirement age – I’m still wondering if he would be pleased with me or not. Silly to think of my seeking his approval at this stage and after so many years. Maybe if I had known him as an adult myself, I would have gotten past all that.

My children never knew him, just as my sisters and I never knew his father; it did not occur to me until many years later how short their lives were. It makes me appreciate my own fortune to have lived enough years to meet my own grandchildren. (Beauties!)

These days I remember with a new-found fondness the few times I heard him singing with abandon in his wonderful tenor voice, and in lieu of cake and candles – perhaps we might just share an Irish sentiment:

Why should I be out of mind because
I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting,
when we meet again.

Happy birthday, Father. I believe I can hear you singing.