by Adam S. Kibbe, guest blogger

ìSee, eyeglasses werenít unbreakable back then, so they wouldnít let Charlie enlist for combat.î 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. ìBut 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, ìpolice actionî. It really wasnít supposed to be called a war, you know.î

I was speaking with Cathy, the mother of a good friend. Her husband, Charlie (Chahw-lee), had died some years back, and weíd 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.

ìI know. A U.N. action, wasnít it? And how long was he there?î I asked.

ìTwo years, I think — the rest of the war. I had just had Gary, and I know we didnít have Lynn until he got out.î Distant memories are often not set, but calculated against larger wayfaring milestones.

ìWasnít that hard, raising a child alone, and wondering how your husband was doing?î

ìOh, sure, but my mother was great — I wouldnít have made it without her.î Shoo-wah. Mu-thuh. Maiyd……….. ìIt 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 canít fix with medicine. I know heíd rather have been able to actually go over there, but I think itís lucky he didnít.î

ìMy father was in that conflict, too. He was in the Air Force there — a mechanic, repairing….. some kind of airplanes. I always thought B-29ís, but he told me I had that part wrong. Iíve often wondered what being there was like for him.î

ìWell, if you want to know more about it, you should ask him.î

ìIíve started to before, but I didnít want to push it. I donít know how private it is for him.î

ìWell, the telephoneís right there — I bet theyíre home. Take it from me, you wonít always have the chance.î

And while I wrestle with the obvious, adult sense of her suggestion, ìHey, you guys, itís ready. Come and sit down!î 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.