July 4th

July 4th in my memory was a quiet affair in Weston when I was growing up.  Celebrate freedom, we did, but remembering those who lost their lives fighting for and keeping it was also on the minds of townsfolk.  My brother, Elvour, known in the family as Charley and called Chuck in the service, was stationed in Hawaii with the U.S. Navy in 1942 when Mother penned this:

To my son-
I'm thinking of you today, my dear, my boy so far away.
My thoughts span the distance between us, son, you seem so very near.
Your voice, with its ringing laughter, I seem to hear.  And you call -
I answer you sometimes, out loud, in my joy, Then it isn't you at all.
But I've had my moment with you and the joy I feel is lasting,
May God protect and ever bless you, and your commrads, is all I'm asking.
------

Mother wrote again when she received word that Chuck had left the U.S.

Part of her poem, "O Lonely Heart"

......and our soldier boy is serving his country
As best he can; Both of our boys are so very young,
Each enlisted at twenty-one. They ask me
Not to weep while they're away, So I count
The hours and hope and pray. And wait
For the mail. I'm praying for your boys too--
Praying - Hoping - Waiting, Is all we mother's can do.
------

Mother passed on to me a beautiful, perfectly stitched doily, sent to her by a sailor, Gus J. Pizzuto, after she wrote:

If He Only Would (1943)

There's a lad in the service of Uncle Sam -
Yes, he's a gob, overseas. He counts each golden
Minute of time, Counts them more precious
Than pennies or dimes. For while his buddies
Play cards and such, He merrily crochets -
To beat the dutch!

Down through the ages, The story's been told -
How the maiden will sew a fine seam.
But here's to the sailor boy, brawny and bold
Who, with deft fingers, makes his crochet hook gleam.
You've guessed it! Of course it's for Christmas -
Those beautiful doilies he's making.

Now tell me - There isn't a Santa - who keeps
Young maiden's hearts from breaking.
I see a fair maiden, me thinks -
Employed in a war-plant job;
Many hours - She's toiling and waiting -
Her heart's with her sailor gob!

For hasn't he promised her a lovely trousseau -
Of hand-work so fine, and so dainty?
With love and precious thoughts, crocheted in -
With stitches he counts so truly. Oh me! Were I
Young and charming, just a maid in my teens -
I'd see if I could win, not the war, not the bond drive.

But a lad over seas. I'd write him and send my picture.
The charmingest picture of me. Then I'd hint
In a cute bashful fashion - He'd send me a doilie!
Oh, Gee! Well - even tho' I'm past forty
I've a birthday coming - real soon,
I can't think of a thing - I'd rather have
Than a man-made doilie in my home.
------

Mother wrote to many servicemen during war times, to keep their spirits up. For the many who didn't make it home, there are pages among Mother's writings of notes she wrote during funerals and memorials and poems, all written and sent to families, hoping to provide some comfort. The rejoicing our family felt when all four sons returned home safely may also have come with some burden of 'survival guilt', living in that small community where many families lost so much.

My parents expressed their gratitude for and honored their heritage, in the way they lived their lives. Living a life using 'gratitude' and 'honor' as verbs is a part of who I want to be, also.