Water Tender First Class Eugene Patrick McGarrigle

[tmcg]

I was trying to think all day yesterday what I could write about my dad's experience in the Philippines in World War II. I'm his only voice now. Well, me and my mom. I keep thinking someday I'll rise to that privilege, but I keep shying away from it. Anyway, he never talked much about war as war. All he told us were the funny stories. Some of them were horrific, like the guy sleeping near him who woke up screaming and stabbing a man's head repeatedly with his knife, and it turned out to be a coconut that had fallen onto his mosquito netting. Some of them were deeply ironic in a Joseph Heller way. Most of them were just plain funny. I know he saw some terrible stuff; and he had some hard experiences growing up itinerant during the Depression, and he never hesitated to tell us those stories, so I think he buried a lot of what he experienced in that war so deep that he didn't even go there anymore. I don't know how he felt about his service to his country. He said he enlisted when he was seventeen, because he was tall and could pass for eighteen and he didn't want to get drafted into the army or the marines; he wanted to go into the navy, because they had showers. I don't know what he thought about the war he fought in. I wish I could ask him. Then again, he was a Big Fish kinda guy. He'd only weave more tales of the past he created as much through telling it as having lived it.

So, basically, I'm just going to post a picture:

Comments

[sleigh.livejournal.com]

I see mischief in those eyes...

[lenasawyer.livejournal.com]

I've been thinking about getting my Dad's memories down on paper, now while I still have him. He was orphaned at four, spent time in an orphanage, in a foster home, in Boys Town (during the Father Flanagan days he says), went into WWII at the age of fourteen, got out and went wild, had a wild ride all the way around. The other day we were talking on the phone and he was telling me a story about during the war and I was fascinated. The experiences he's had. I need to keep them somewhere. I've lost my Mom and all the experiences that made her who she was. I don't want to have that regret with my Dad.

I'll raise a glass of wine to your Dad tonight.

[ogre-san.livejournal.com]

They were so young, but what they did... May we never have need to rise to such an occasion as they did so well.

[terrymcgarry.livejournal.com]

There's definitely mischief there. :)

Funny, I also see defiance, truculence, fear, a quiet reserve, danger, sadness...none of which I would associate with my dad in a general way, except maybe the last two, but not the way I see them there. Odd.

[terrymcgarry.livejournal.com]

Oh, please do capture those stories and memories. I frequently think the same thing about my mom. I think about getting a new battery for my video camera and sitting and prompting her to reminisce while the camera runs. Do you still remember the war story your dad was telling you well enough to type it into a file real quick? (Or even post it to your journal??)

I'm moved by the raised glass. Thank you. {{}}

[terrymcgarry.livejournal.com]

Hear, hear.

They were so young. I see that picture of Dad and think, God, look at him--he was a baby. It amazes me.

[cussedness.livejournal.com]

My Mama's eight brothers all served in World War II and only two of them would actually sit and talk about it, usually after having a few beers. The nice one would tell the funny stories. The odd one would tell the disturbing ones, the scary stories. I still remember some of them, but not nearly enough of them. I wish I had written them down before they died.

[terrymcgarry.livejournal.com]

Write down the ones you remember! I've got to do that, too.

Interesting, but not suprising, I suppose, that only two of eight would talk about their experience.