Thinking of my FIL on D-Day

[rurallib]

My FIL died 20 years ago. I think of him often, especially on D-Day.
He was one of those who stormed Omaha Beach. Fortunately he came through the war physically unscathed.

He had just turned 20 a few days before D-Day. Other than that he spoke almost nothing of his war experience. When he came home and was discharged he put his medals in a dresser drawer. As far as I know he never took them out again.

He told only 2 stories of the war - one was how the Red Cross charged him (a soldier in uniform) a dime for a cup of coffee. After what he'd been through he thought that was outrageous that they couldn't give him a cup of coffee.

The other story was his R&R in Iceland in July where he and the other soldiers were able to play baseball 24 hours a day.

On the 50th anniversary of D-Day his cousin - a nurse in WWII - tried to persuade him to go back. In an unusual snap at her, he said there is no way in hell he would want to ever see that place again.

All that to lead up to today with our country being represented at Normandy by our criminal president. I can almost hear him screaming at me "How did America elect that SOB?"

His wife, my MIL, died last year. We would talk a little bit of politics now and then. One of our last conversations I said "I just want to live long enough to see Trump in jail." She responded with a "Not as much as I do. And I am sure Bob (my FIL) would want that too."

The thought of the ultimate coward Trump at Normandy, where my FIL at age 20 was willing to give his life for his country, just makes me want to puke. Trump's very presence where so many sacrificed their lives for their country is such an insult to their memory.

Had to get that off my mind or I may not have been able to function for the rest of the day. Thanks for listening

[Javaman]

1. funny you mention the Red Cross charging the dime for cup of joe...

my Uncle said the very same thing. however, the Salvation Army gave it away for free.

As a result, my Uncle until the day he died supported the SA over the Red Cross.

My uncle was D-Day + 19 but my cousin was in the first wave on Omaha. He and 5 guys were the only ones to survive from his company.

[MaryMagdaline]

4. Respect

[murielm99]

9. My dad felt that way about the Red Cross.

They gave us little donation boxes at school. We were supposed to bring them back filled with pennies and nickels. I was not allowed to give any money to them or collect for them.

I remember my third grade teacher shaming me for not bringing back the box.

[irisblue]

2. 🕯️ 🇺🇸 Respect

My late FIL Jack D came on shore later, in time for the Battle of the Bulge.

[MaryMagdaline]

5. Respect, Irisblue

[demosincebirth]

11. I'm sure he didn't just hang out until the battle of the Bulge. They all are super hero's.

[MaryMagdaline]

3. This is perfectly said

The traitor who is dismantling our NATO alliance gets to preside over the D-Day commemoration. An insult to your FIL and all those there that day.

In remembrance of your FIL

[unc70]

6. My FIL had same complaint about the Red Cross

He seemed to take it personally, would never donate to the RC. I feel much the same way about the Red Cross and disaster relief. After a disaster like a hurricane, the RC does two things; they show up with signs prominently showing the Red Cross, and they start asking for donations. Funny (not ha, ha) since the shelters are actually funded and run by state and local governments, and are usually reimbursed in large part by the federal government. FEMA provides a few coordinators, stockpile supplies, and money. Nearly all the shelter workers, etc. are still those same state and local employees shown behind the Red Cross signs. In the cases where the RC does provide supplies, etc., they also are reimbursed.

Don't get me started on Elizabeth Dole screwing up the blood supply.

[rurallib]

8. My FIL did take that charge for coffee personally and Red Cross

was a curse word to him until the day he died.

I am not even sure how long he fought or where. Those were the only two stories he ever mentioned about the war. The Red Cross was such a slight to him that he remembered that over battles etc.

[brooklynite]

7. I think a lot of people tried to put the war behind them...

My FIL grew up in Holland, and was living in Arnhem when Operation Market Garden occurred. The Germans forced all the Dutch out of town and his family moved to a farm, when he spent his days studying in the basement because if he was seen outdoors, he might get conscripted for slave labor. I don't recall him ever telling stories about that period or focusing on any of the anniversaries.

[UniteFightBack]

10. And those were certainly the days that you did not talk about things....no matter what they were. nt

[DallasNE]

12. I Can Relate To That

I had an uncle that was part of that invasion force. He was a tank driver and he lost 2 tanks with tracks shot off on that day. When he came back with the 3rd tank they were off and running. Some of his tank crew didn't make it that first day. But he didn't tell any of this until he was in his 80's. When he passed away about 15 years ago I was so honored to serve as a pallbearer for him. His story made him my favorite uncle.

[dwayneb]

13. Unforgiven and unforgivable

Trump has done plenty of disgusting and immoral things in his life, but by far the worst is defiling the memory of our WWII veterans by working every single day to destroy the America that they gave their lives to defend. I will never, ever forgive him for that. And if this treasonous scumbag passes before I do I will happily go to spit on his grave.

So getting that off MY chest.

And BTW I am a rural lib too - we are out here.

[rurallib]

15. Welcome to DU other rural lib!

I am so with you on those feelings.
The last 3 years on D-Day have me going into deep thought eventually ending with such utter disgust for the criminal in the WH and what he has done to the those who fought WWII.

Just one thought on going to spit on Dear Leader's grave - the line will be long so be sure to give yourself lots of time.

[El Mimbreno]

14. Your FIL seems a lot like my uncle John.

He was not in the D-day invasion, but did serve in Europe. No one was aware of how the experience traumatized him until one day he hid in his locker at the plant where he worked after the war. Today he would no doubt have been diagnosed with PTSD.
About 10 years ago, his buddies at the VFW suggested he go on one of the Honor Flights to the WWII Memorial. He was given a form that asked, among other things, what battles he fought in and how many enemy he killed. He told us later,"I don't need to drag that stuff up. I'm not proud of having killed anyone, it's just something I had to do."

The mere presence of the thing occupying the White House is an insult to veterans and dishonors the memory of those who gave all.

[DFW]

16. My father and FIL were on opposite sides in World War II

Both were drafted, but the similarity ends there.

My father followed in his father's steps in that he went to college, but he was forced to graduate 5 months early in order to report for basic training. He was sent first to England and then to France at age 22, but after D-Day. His boat across the English Channel was torpedoed, and sunk, but he made it off onto another boat. Having taken French in college, he was held back from most combat for translation duty. He had radio duty at Patton's camp the night of Patton's fatal motorcycle accident, and said it was the worst panic he saw during the whole war. After the war was over, the US forces were frantic to find lodging for the soldiers, since there weren't enough boats to get them all home at once. Some quick thinking on my dad's part earned him one of the most coveted billeting residences in all of Europe. "I like to sail!" became a family inside joke, just like "Russian fish!" did later on.

My father in law was a farmer in the flatlands of northwestern Germany. His native language wasn't even German, but rather Pladdütsch, a rural language spoken in one version or other throughout most of northwestern Germany and border areas of the Netherlands. When Hitler planned the invasion of the Soviet Union, it required massive manpower and more time to prepare than there was. He was drafted at age 17. At Stalingrad, the city boys in his unit, unused to the bitter cold, all froze to death. At age 17, he was in a barrage of Soviet artillery fire, and one shell blew part of his leg off. A retreating unit noticed he was still alive, and got him out before the rest of the Germans were encircled and captured. Gangrene set in, and he needed more and more of his leg amputated before his life was no longer in danger. He was returned to his farm, an embittered 18 year old cripple, obviously useless as a farmer. But not willing to mope for the rest of his life, he became the first of his family to get a formal education, and got a job in a local rural bank. For the rest of his life, he secured loans and financing for struggling farmers in his area. At his funeral, we expected 100 or so people to show up. More than 400 did, mostly grateful farmers. When he was visiting us (or we visited them), occasional documentaries would come on TV, and when a picture of Hitler was shown, he would grow silent, and a dark anger would take him over, his jaws silently rippling. No one can replace a stolen youth. He and my mom-in-law proudly kept photos in their kitchen of me introducing their daughter, my wife, to the President and Vice-President of the United States (Bill Clinton and Al Gore). Thank goodness he did not live to experience Dick Cheney or Trump.