I Wish I’d Asked

Sometimes, you find out things you never knew about your father; things he never told you; things that you never thought to ask; things you wished you’d known when he was here, sitting across from you, asking about your day, your year, your life. Why didn’t I say, “What was that like for you, Dad, at 17 years old, having to leave your friends, your family, your home to board that Navy ship for the first time? A ship that would take you all the way to the South Pacific for four years, to see things no teenager should ever have to see. I didn’t find out the answer to that question but, yesterday, I found out what it was like for him to come home. “Bill and his shipmates were on shore leave and upon returning to the ship after a little too much celebrating, one man fell off the plank into the water between the ship and the wall. Bill dove in and saved him from drowning.” I had to read that over and over. My dad, jumped in and saved his buddy. How cool is that? I never knew that. I wish I had. Then, “One day, a cab pulled up to the beginning of our street. Bill asked the driver to stop there and let him out so that he could walk home down the long driveway, because he never thought he would be able to do that again. Many of his friends didn’t make it back to do that very thing. He reached the door and hugged his brother, and his mom thanked God for bringing him back, and his father cried and said, “Come in and sit down son. You’re home.” He was 21 years old. 21 years old.