My Dad is No Hero

I have never been very close to my Dad. Not for lack of trying; he is just that way – always around, but never really there. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Dad very much. He has never been big on communication. At least not with me.

I often relied on my Mom to relay information to me regarding my Dad as well as others. I realized over time, that whatever stories she related to me, often contained much inaccurate information, but here is one story that stuck with me, regarding my Dad, from when I was young. If it’s even partially true, I think he’s pretty extraordinary and much stronger than he gives himself credit for.

So, here’s the version of the story I remember. I have always wanted to let my Dad know that I was proud of him, that what he did was important. How he kept operating under such strange conditions, has always left me feeling confused. He doesn’t like to talk about it, and I don’t know how to start a conversation.

My Dad was drafted into the army during the Vietnam war era shortly after his graduation from high school, along with three of his brothers over that same time. He spent some time in Germany, but never on the front lines. Never in battle of any sort, as far as I know. I believe he was a mechanic. Before long, they were all sent back home, or to serve stateside, as the oldest brother had died while in service of a gunshot wound to the head, either self-inflicted, or murdered by his girlfriend. The older generation of his family preferred the version that he didn’t take his own life as that would be uncatholic, sending him to Hell. I don’t know anything about it, as it’s never been discussed. I was a baby. I can’t imagine how devastating that would be for his parents and siblings (there were six children.) I often wonder if my Dad ever talked about it, if he ever really addressed it, or I wonder how he felt about it? How did that event impact him and our lives?

I guess he was given the option of honorable discharge, but my Dad still wanted to serve. He would not be allowed anywhere outside of the states, or in battle. He was put on funeral duty. He felt like this was an unimportant job within service with the war going on. Or so I was told.

I’ve always wanted him to know I thought what he did was important. To me, it was important in the sense that it honored lives lost and helped families immensely by providing respect and tradition to help them transition to a life absent a loved one.

He was discharged when I was two or three. Our family built a small home in the country, my two younger brothers came along. I grew up being quite close to a large family with a lot of cousins, but people rarely spoke about anything significant.

To me, I feel like my Dad had a very important role in the service and performed heroically despite devastation occurring early in his life and has also provided respectfully for his family even though I know he has lived with a number of issues that he has stoically kept hidden from the outside world. His mind must be a mess, but I am proud of him. I just wish I knew how to tell him that.

Thank you for reading!