MaineCourse

Voice of Experience

by Adam S. Kibbe, guest blogger

“See, eyeglasses weren’t unbreakable back then, so they wouldn’t let Charlie enlist for combat.” The name delivered in a high-register version of that Nu-Yahwk drawl, to me usually fingernails on a chalkboard, but dismissable for the conversation we were having. “But he was determined, so he went into the medical corp and was stationed in Virginia Beach for the rest of the Korean War -- excuse me, “police action”. It really wasn’t supposed to be called a war, you know.”

I was speaking with Cathy, the mother of a good friend. Her husband, Charlie (Chahw-lee), had died some years back, and we’d attended his funeral on Long Island, along with various of the CT band. I was struck at the time by how well-regarded he was in his community there, how many people knew him, both currently and for decades, and could speak well of him and his many contributions. For several Thansgivings now we have invited our friend and her husband and mother to our house, as her only other sibling, Gary, lives far away, and theirs has become a quite small gathering. With ghosts.

“I know. A U.N. action, wasn’t it? And how long was he there?” I asked.

“Two years, I think -- the rest of the war. I had just had Gary, and I know we didn’t have Lynn until he got out.” Distant memories are often not set, but calculated against larger wayfaring milestones.

“Wasn’t that hard, raising a child alone, and wondering how your husband was doing?”

“Oh, sure, but my mother was great -- I wouldn’t have made it without her.” Shoo-wah. Mu-thuh. Maiyd........... “It was harder on Charlie, though -- he saw all the guys who came back, not just wounded, but really badly affected by what they saw. Some things you can’t fix with medicine. I know he’d rather have been able to actually go over there, but I think it’s lucky he didn’t.”

“My father was in that conflict, too. He was in the Air Force there -- a mechanic, repairing..... some kind of airplanes. I always thought B-29’s, but he told me I had that part wrong. I’ve often wondered what being there was like for him.”

“Well, if you want to know more about it, you should ask him.”

“I’ve started to before, but I didn’t want to push it. I don’t know how private it is for him.”

“Well, the telephone’s right there -- I bet they’re home. Take it from me, you won’t always have the chance.”

And while I wrestle with the obvious, adult sense of her suggestion, “Hey, you guys, it’s ready. Come and sit down!” Tricia says, sticking her head out of he kitchen to summon us to Thanksgiving dinner.

And we go.

Our Thanksgiving houseguest, Cathy, helps Ivan try on the new mittens she knitted for him.

Great writing Adam. I'm glad my Dad wrote his WW II memoirs. I felt the same way about asking him about it. You may find your father would love to talk about it.

Great picture of Ivan too!

Posted by Q.

Let me jump on Q's back and second his (and Cathy's) suggestion.

Posted by M.

You MUST ask. People think others aren't interested, or that they would be bothersome relating their less than savory experiences. But if you don't, you won't get another chance. Shortly before my maternal grandmother died at age 86, she told me that when she was a child (the youngest of 12) on the family farm in Nova Scotia, they took in an elderly lady for a short period of time. All she had with her was a jewelry box. She was a survivor from the Titanic! How I wish she had kept a journal of this experience. -Jan P.S. Ivan is adorable. I'm suitably jealous.

Posted by jan queijo.

Adam, You have taken on dialogue and you have won. Great thanksgiving story.

Jan, What a moving rejoinder. I can just picture the elderly lady with the jewelry box.

Adam, Breathtaking picture of Ivan. All those hands.

Posted by hands.

Posted by Michael at November 30, 2003 03:00 PM