Originally posted by: Perknose
The combat vets of the WWII generation never once thought of themselves as special. It was a job that needed to be done, a call to duty, and they pitched in and saw it through to the end, then came home and got married and raised kids and almost NEVER talked about what they did.
The first and only time I found out that my Dad had seen his sister ship, a fleet oiler, blown sky high by a kamikaze sub was in 7th grade when I brought home a watercolor from "art" class of planes attacking ships and my Dad quietly said, pointing to my 'flames', "If you want to know what flames look like I've got them burned into my memory" and then told me.
The
only
time.
As a grad of the New York State Maritime Academy with a naval engineering degree he was more valuable stateside teaching others as the Navy ramped up their personnel needs, so he went into his superior's office every single day for a year until the guy relented and released him for combat duty in the South Pacific.
And my Dad had it
hella good stateside!
But like he simply and unassumingly said about wanting combat duty, "That's what you did. You wanted to be part of it."