It’s Thanksgiving November 24, 1949. World War 2 had been over for four years.
I’m sitting at our dining room table in Huntington Park, California with fifteen other people.
They’re all adults except me. I’m one month shy of turning five years old. I’m a “toe head”, wearing my new Roy Rogers flannel shirt.
There’s a lot of loud festive talking and drinking. Smoking too.
I have a NEW theory (and as you grow older there should always be new theories about your childhood) why so many congregated at our home that day, and why so much drinking was taking place.
First, my mother was the youngest of twelve children. She grew up in a rural community in Utah, where according to a local newspaper article I read, her farm was a place where youth were continuously congregating for parties and activities. It was only natural that my mother continued that practice into adulthood. She was thirty nine years old at this thanksgiving.
Next, The reason for so much drinking might be twofold. Even though WW2 had been over for four years, it definitely did not erase the nightmare of war from the psyches of those who fought in it. You try to drink your memories away. But It’s impossible to have faced an apocalypse, where seventy million innocent people lost their lives, and not have it be permanently seared into every synapse of your brain. All of the men sitting around that table were navy veterans who had been on war ships in the Pacific. There must have been a sense of vulnerability being on a ship that could have been and probably was fired upon, damaged, and maybe even sunk. I don’t remember the drinking bothering me that day. To this day I don’t blame them for drinking. But to get to that point, the negative feelings I developed over the years had to be edited.
There also must have also been a sense of insecurity as servicemen had to start their lives over again. The economy was shifting from being on a war footing to a civilian footing. Jobs had not yet completely transitioned over. I can remember my stepfather job hunting. He’d come home after a day of going door to door interviewing with no results. I felt his discouragement even when I was four and five years old. I feel it now more than ever. A man’s identity is tied to his work and bringing home a paycheck to support his family. Had I been in his position I might have said, “I fought for my country, I was on the top deck pulling the trigger on that big gun, I was wounded, I’ve come home, married, and now I’m having a hell of a time finding a job. What’s up?”
Yes, I remember those days. In my younger adult years I was quick to criticize those men for drinking too much. Now, I have feelings of reverence for their heroism. They were the first to protect the whole of the Pacific. And ever since, for the most part, peace has ruled supreme in the biggest ocean in the world, with the greatest number of populated islands in the world, and the largest land populations in the world. The Pacific has also grown to be the richest in the world.
So, no, I have absolutely nothing but warm memories as the only child around that table that day some seventy years ago, wearing my Roy Rogers flannel shirt.