V-E DAY SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS

For four years, my dad wore this Army Air Corps patch on his uniform, along with thousands of other young men drafted into military service. The only son of an Iowa farmer, he left behind a lot of work for my grandfather.

Times had been tough. They’d lost a farm during the Depression and earned it back through diligence and perseverance. Dad went from driving a team of draft horses through the fields to training in Washington, D.C. And then to North Africa and beyond.

But during World War II, you went when you were called. And you served as long as you were needed. It’s difficult to imagine how much the victory won in Europe meant to these soldiers, sailors, and airmen.

6 thoughts on “V-E DAY SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS

  1. A wonderful memory shared my friend. If your dad was alive, I am certain he would be most proud of how you have upheld, and furthered, the family’s name and traditions. What a blessing. you ending statement really has me thinking this morning. “… you went when you were called. And you served as long as you were needed.” so many parallels to our lives as Christians and Christian writers. We are called to be “Light Writers” (as my friend Mrs. Audrey Frank) calls us; and we are to use the gifts God has given us, in His service, wherever that might lead us. Like you, I can’t imagine what the V-E Day meant to those service men and women who sacrificed so much to help others. I look forward to the next version of V-J (Victory in Jesus) Day though, when perhaps we’ll have some understanding of what they must’ve felt. Thank you for sharing ma’am.

    • Good to see you here again, JD. You’ve served in the military, right–so you understand more than I ever could!

  2. I fondly recall the stories of many of the events that happened while my dad was in North Africa and Italy during WWII. Most of the stories he told were funny or entertaining. While I know first hand that there are funny things that happen in war, I have always known that my loving father was not sharing everything about every story, he loved us enough to keep many of the details to himself. I sometimes wish he hadn’t. I miss him dearly.

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