My dad is a member of the greatest generation. He ties together a lot of things. He carries pieces of shrapnal in his back that he got in a moment one day in 1944. He was 18 when World War II started. That was pretty bad luck I'd say. He grew up on the St. John's River and before long he was in the Navy. He didn't have a prestigious ship, just a simple LST, the 460. She lies rusted at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. He lost about 100 friends in those terrible moments that brought about the ship's destruction. He had not a high rank. An uneducated man, a high school drop out, he had risen only to radioman third class. Dad can still take and send morse code. I've watched him take it down as we listened to someone sending a message on short wave. You wouldn't think any one would send morse code today, but they do.

Dad was faithful to his country. It had done him few favors. His own father died in 1930, leaving his mom with 10 children to face the depression alone. She took in washing. I'd have sung no songs had not Dad made it through those tough times. His family was not much of a family. They were broken and desperate. Five died as children. Dad lived through that Kamakaze plane crashing into them. He did not drown in the ocean he found himself swimming in. Though wounded he was able to climb aboard a passing ship. He finished out the war in hospitals stateside. He married Mom in '47 and they were married 56 years until she went on without us in the fall several years ago. I miss her almost every day, but I can't imagine how much he misses her. Well I can imagine actually because I've been married myself for 32 years. He misses her a lot.

Yet he goes on, with a little dog his only companion. Alone after all these years. Far away from my sister and me. It is impossible to understand him. He is a solitary man. He demonstrates that strength that has built America in the past 75 years.