A while back, an old high school friend named Marlon posted a picture on Facebook of a brick with an engraved inscription in a local park. It’s the kind of inscription that memorializes people who’ve died.
The picture was of a brick with my brother’s name, date of death, and place where he died.
It caught me off guard.
It wasn’t his birthday or the date that he had died. Just a random picture with his name:
He was born on July 12 and our dad was born on July 2. Their birth dates are separated by approximately 30 years and 10 days. They also share the same middle name:
Now, no offense to all of you Eugene’s out there, but I’m glad that this middle name tradition stopped by the time I came along.
The fact that they shared a birth month guaranteed that they would see eye to eye on pretty much – Nothing.
Having an alcoholic father did not help with seeing eye to eye on anything. David wanted to join the Army sometime in the Seventies. I was just a toddler at the time and don’t know the exact date of this disagreement.
I also don’t know who convinced him into wanting to join the Army.
Maybe it was a skilled recruiter or a friend (I have a suspicion) or maybe Walter Cronkite on the nightly news. I mean, who rationally wants to join the Army in the waning years of the Vietnam War?
Well, maybe you if you’re trying to escape a dysfunctional family. I don’t know. But I do know that dad said “no.” David must have been no more than 17 years old because if he had been 18, he would’ve simply joined the Army.
It also tells me that it was just a momentary desire because when he did turn 18, he didn’t join.
Maybe he wanted to be like dad. After all Dad was a World War II and Korean War veteran. He’d been a paratrooper, among other things.
Maybe David was feeling patriotic or needed a job or just felt the pressure from somewhere to join.
I don’t know.
I wish that he had joined. I also wish dad had been around when I enlisted in the Air Force two years after he died.
But, you can’t always get what you want.