My dad was an orphan at 6 years of age. His mother passed away from the Great Infuenza in the early 1900s and his father shortly thereafter from a head injury sustained from exiting a Taxicab, falling and hitting his head on a brick wall. Remarkable. My grandmother's name was Birdie Love Andres. She was known to be beautiful, calm and kind hearted. Her sister Bess was also known to be beautiful, calm and kind hearted. Bess took my father to live with her and her family of 5 children. My father grew up on a farm in La Mesa, Texas. He and his brothers/cousins worked very hard on the farm, cattle and sheep ranches that his uncle owned. They eventually struck oil on most of this land and became the land barons of Texas. They are the stuff of many legends and literary works.

My father's grandmother set aside money for my father to get an education. At the age of 18, he begged his Aunt Bess to attend Texas Tech. He was requried to work and go to college. He graduated with an Engineering Degree and joined the Air Force as a Lieutenant.

He met and married my mother while stationed in Brownsville, Texas. My mother had been married previously and had a 3 year old daughter, my sister, Barbara.  My mother drove all over the country trying to stay up with my father and where he was stationed. He told stories of how my mother would arrive in an old car with bald tires. He said he would be amazed that she ever made it. Once, she arrive with a big bubble in the tire and had driven with a arrump of the tire the entire way. He would frantically scrounge and scavenenge parts and repairs for the car, each time she arrived. I was born while they were stationed in Eunice, New Mexico. My father said that he ask the Doctor "If he could send me back. They had to use forcepts and my head was very lop-sided". He use to tease my sister and I. He called me "Knuklehead".

My father was stationed in Japan for a time. He was a pilot in the air force and flew a P47 Thunderbolt, also know as the "Jug". This plane was a high altitude bomber/fighter. My father was only one of two men that survived from his squadron. My father was very athletic and a well built man. He was however not the biggest man. He was about 5' 6" and weight about 135 lbs. He was so short that when he flew, he could not use the tube provided for relieving himself and would have to fly 8 hour missions without being able to take relief. He said that was one of the hardest things about his missions. He also said that he survived due to his plane's ability to climb in altitude above the fight and to look for opportunity at the higher altitude. He won his fights.   

On this memorial day and as I remember my Dad, I am so proud of him. He was a good father and a good man. He called me every Sunday of my adult life to see how I was. I remember him helping me with my math. I did not like math....and so he always encouraged me in my art pursuits. He took me to the symphony and to the performing arts. We visited musems and dinner theatres. We took long hikes together...just him and me. He tried hard to give me some culture and social exposure. He was a Rennaisance Man and he passed it along. I find myself recognizing a certain opera piece or classical piece and it transports me back to my childhood and Saturday or Sunday mornings with the stereo playing and my Dad trying to get me out of bed to enjoy the day with him....to listen to music and discuss this particular piece by.....Bach, or Handle....pretty cool stuff my Dad and Me.

On this special day and it is a special day to remember all these wonderful, brave and dedicated men and women that have given of themselves to protect what they held dear.....their families and their country.