Paul's Thing

My dad was 16 when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. He – like every other young man in South Sioux City, Nebraska – wanted to join up and fight, but without his parents’ permission the recruiters wouldn’t take him.

As men aged 18 and older began to be drafted, local employers scrambled to hire 16- and 17-year-olds to replace them. So my dad worked in a meat-packing plant for the first year of the war, making considerably more money than the long-time employees working alongside him, and no doubt taking his share of guff for it. He remembers how the old guys – those who’d served in the First World War – would call him “cannon fodder” when he walked past.

Soon enough, my dad was cannon fodder. When he turned 17 he forged his mother’s signature on a permission form  and joined the US Navy. He fought in the Battle of Okinawa. That is really something.

Dad, I’m proud to be your son. Happy Fathers’ Day!

Update (10/7/07): I didn’t have my facts right.  Dad served in the Pacific during WWII, first as a gunner on a merchant tanker, then as a crewmember on a salvage and repair ship.  He was to have fought in the Battle of Okinawa but by the time his ship arrived the war had just ended.  None of this impresses me any the less.

© 2006 – 2007, Paul Woodford. All rights reserved.