I was born while WW2 was still raging: December 12, 1944. The wars on both sides of our continent ended September 2, 1945.
My aunt and uncle were stationed at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii when the Japanese bombed it. This started WW2. That morning my aunt told me she was outside hanging up their wet laundry when the Japanese fighter planes flew in and around the harbor and the air base. She stopped what she was doing. Just then, one of the planes came so close to where she was that the pilot and she exchanged glances.
War is strange that way. Monumental events are happening, yet simple everyday events are caught amidst the changing world. That exchange of glances happened around 7:55 A.M. December 7, 1941.
Four hundred thousand Americans lost their lives during WW2, which lasted four years. Weird, some time this month 400,000 Americans will have lost their lives in nine months to COVID-19.
My mother, aunt and I went to see my uncle’s ship come in after the war. The sailors and officers stood on every deck at attention as the ship docked in the Long Beach Naval Shipyard in Long Beach, California.
They were dressed in navy blue. Music played. As my uncle came down the plank, my aunt went out to meet him. They hugged and kissed, and then my mother took me by the hand and we too went out to meet my uncle. He picked me up, and gave me a hug. My mother had not remarried at the time.
Shortly after that my uncle took me aboard his battleship. As a chief petty officer, he had his own quarters. I spent maybe half an hour in there as punishment for something I did. I can’t remember what It was.
The battleship had a distinct aroma I remember to this day. The inviting smell of coffee wafted through the mess hall. The other petty officers were amply imbibing it at the meal table. I wanted some. My uncle said no. I persisted loudly. Maybe that’s what caused me to spend time in his quarters.
My stepfather was a gunner aboard another battleship. He had a scar on his ankle from having a hot flying piece of metal sear open
his skin. There were times he had to keep a bandage with gauze on it before it completely healed. I always wanted to see him change the dressing. One time I got so close to the wound I touched it. That was the last I was allowed to see him changing it.
I grew up being a part of parties and reunions, most of which took place in my mother’s home in Hunting Park, about ten miles from the shipyard.
Funny thing, I was the only child at these parties. Why? My mother was the only one who had had a child by that time.
Drinking went on. I can’t remember any fighting, or cussing. Glassy eyes and stumbling, yes; banter back and forth, and loud laughter, most definitely, but that was it.
When we weren’t partying at my mother’s, we were partying at my aunt and uncle’s navy housing in Long Beach. One time, I woke up fully dressed on their bed. I was wet. I was lying next to my uncle, who also was wet. I thought for a moment that maybe my uncle had wet the bed, but quickly realized it was I who had.
We got up. and went to the living room. There were bodies all over the place, sleeping from the night’s binge. My uncle showered me off and helped me change my clothes. He changed the sheets.
My uncle was my favorite person of all of them. His body was thick, his fingers even more so. The famous myth around our family was that he knocked out three marines who insulted my aunt. Yet, he was gentle, especially with me. I kept him reaffirming the number of marines he knocked out.
His name was Alfonso Pocas. I called him Uncle Po. My aunt called him Al, except when she was mad at him, then she would call him Po.
The warriors, most of whom were Navy guys, never talked about the war. When you don’t talk about your war years, there’s got to be a reason. Either you didn’t see that much action and were consumed with repetition and boredom, forever feeling guilty you didn’t do your part; or, you did see action and saw some of your buddies killed, and were forever coming to grips with it, most often in deep silence.
One day my mother said the war ended. WW2? I asked. No, the Korean War. That was July 27, 1953. I never realized WW2 had ended.
Those were some of my experiences.