I usually don't think twice about Veteran's Day. I see the parades of retired military veterans on television, most wearing their uniforms proudly and offering a interview or two about sacrifice, remembrance and honor of the soldiers who fought and died for freedom. My only connection to Veteran's Day is my father, John Villegas Lopez. He served in WWII when he was drafted as a Philippine Scout and fought alongside United States serviceman against the Japanese when they invaded the Philippines. He escaped from the Bataan Death March and suffered from Malaria for a month before returning to serve again.
It's shocking to know that 700 WWII veterans die every day. Only 2,530 are still alive. It was of course sobering for my parents to see the numbers shrink every year as a majority of my dad's fellow comrades have passed away. He outlived most of them until this past May. My father of 88 years joined them when he lost his courageous battle to lung cancer.
The last time I attended a Veteran's Day event was when I was about 12 years old. I went to the Presidio Army Base in San Francisco with my mother, father and younger brother. We heard and saw the gun salutes, speeches, honors, veterans - the whole kit and caboodle. There's a picture of me frowning, probably complaining, looking cranky with my arms stiffly crossed, standing next to my relaxed and easy going father. I think I was bored, hungry or maybe both.
So when I saw my mother today, it shook me like an earthquake when she said she remembered my father while watching a newscast of a local veteran's memorial service. The sound of the taps rewound her memory tapes back to my father's funeral service which was graced with full military honors such as the infamous bugle melody. I remember the bugle and three gun salute loud and clear as if it happened today. 20 years later, I flashback to my grouchy moment at the Presidio with my father. I sure wish I can teleport back to that period but this time my frown turned upside down.
Today I thought a lot about Veteran's Day, my father, freedom, sacrifice and love. Here's to the millions of unsung heroes who fought with all their might. I would not have been delivered in the Letterman Army Hospital, would not have benefited from the GI college bill, and I would not be living in San Francisco if my father did not risk his life, escape the Bataan Death March and continue the fight. I salute him with all my heart.
It's shocking to know that 700 WWII veterans die every day. Only 2,530 are still alive. It was of course sobering for my parents to see the numbers shrink every year as a majority of my dad's fellow comrades have passed away. He outlived most of them until this past May. My father of 88 years joined them when he lost his courageous battle to lung cancer.
The last time I attended a Veteran's Day event was when I was about 12 years old. I went to the Presidio Army Base in San Francisco with my mother, father and younger brother. We heard and saw the gun salutes, speeches, honors, veterans - the whole kit and caboodle. There's a picture of me frowning, probably complaining, looking cranky with my arms stiffly crossed, standing next to my relaxed and easy going father. I think I was bored, hungry or maybe both.
So when I saw my mother today, it shook me like an earthquake when she said she remembered my father while watching a newscast of a local veteran's memorial service. The sound of the taps rewound her memory tapes back to my father's funeral service which was graced with full military honors such as the infamous bugle melody. I remember the bugle and three gun salute loud and clear as if it happened today. 20 years later, I flashback to my grouchy moment at the Presidio with my father. I sure wish I can teleport back to that period but this time my frown turned upside down.
Today I thought a lot about Veteran's Day, my father, freedom, sacrifice and love. Here's to the millions of unsung heroes who fought with all their might. I would not have been delivered in the Letterman Army Hospital, would not have benefited from the GI college bill, and I would not be living in San Francisco if my father did not risk his life, escape the Bataan Death March and continue the fight. I salute him with all my heart.
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