My father served in the Air Force in the early to late 50s. He flew C-47s and a couple of the early jets whose models I don't remember. He was ready to defend the country at any time during his service. The way it worked out, however, was he was never sent to Korea and he was out of the service before Vietnam. Afterwards, he went on to fly for Continental Airlines until 1992.
I remember watching a documentary about the Vietnam War. They showed a family in 1973 anxiously waiting around the TV set for news of the father's possible homecoming. He was a pilot who had been shot down over North Vietnam and had done time in the Hanoi Hilton. Now in '73 many of our imprisoned airmen were returning home. When that family's father stepped out of the plane, his family jumped up and cheered. They hadn't seen him in years. I'm not sure if they even knew if he was alive. What I couldn't help but think was that could have easily been my family. If my dad had not been able to get an airline job, he probably would have re-entered the Air Force and thus would have been serving during the Vietnam War. He could have ended up in the Hanoi Hilton for years or he could have been killed. I could have grown up with my dad absent for much of my life or never knowing him at all. It's our soldiers and their families who lost them whom I remember on Memorial Day.
I'm happy to say, my dad is still with us. He's retired and in his 80s and fixes up Model T cars. He has his own airplane and still flies it. He still gets up on the roof and fixes it. He still roots for the Dallas Cowboys, having become a fan in the early 60s. I'm grateful to have grown up with such a good father. However, I have a heavy heart for the people who lost theirs in service to our country.
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