I realize this post does not generally fall into The Feminist Underground themes, but I'm going with it anyway because it is on my mind. And sometimes a girl just has to speak her mind.
The 65th anniversary of D-Day is tomorrow. There has been all the uproar with the Queen not receiving an invitation until the last minute; so last minute that she can't pull together the security detail to get her there. Instead, the Prince gets to go, which makes me question his overall importance these days, but that is neither here nor there.
One of my wishes for my future is to make it to Normandy. My grand wish is to take my mother with me. I'm not sure how realistic either is, but it is there with me each year. My father, who passed away four years ago, was part of D-Day. He was in the U.S. Army Air Force, which existed at the time. He was one of the para-gliders sent behind the lines before the beach invasions. He never talked about his time in the WWII (he was also at Battle of the Bulge) and I never asked. And now as I am older and he is gone I feel the regret of never learning about the hero he was. The extent of what I know is that because of his time there he hated mutton and refused to ever set foot in Europe again. On occasion my mom would try to slip some lamb into a meal; he always caught her. And despite the several trips I took with my mom to Europe, he never returned again.
So, there is my story behind this post.
Today I am remembering my father, what he gave while he was there and what he kept giving up in his life as a result. I generally avoid military discussions as I find myself rather ambivalent. On this matter though, when it comes to what my father's generation gave I am not. Here is to remembering what was given and lost. May we some day learn how to live in peace so that 65 years from now another youngish feminist is not writing the same kind of post as I am now.