As a kid growing up I didn't think much about the attack on that day. I was too caught up in what I would get for birthday presents. Back then we didn't have much, so birthday presents were a big deal.
I never thought once about the terror that a 17year old farm boy from Missouri went thru on that day in 1941. Seeing the Pacific paradise that is Hawaii turned into a battlefield of bombs and blood. 2 hours of relentless shelling and death all around.
Luckily for him (and me) he was able to survive the beginning hours of the war in the Pacific.
He was stationed on the USS Pennsylvania that was in dry dock for maintenance. I'm sure the Japanese looked at it as a sitting duck. My father was on shore leave that morning. When the bombing started, he made his way back to the ship. The first thing he did was to grab a rifle and ammo and started firing at anything that was flying. Realizing he wasn't doing much good he worked his way to the top deck and helped a gunner, with an anti-aircraft gun, take down a number of Zero's. He never told me how many. He just said several. I guess the focus of tunnel vision prevented him from being distracted.
He retired from the service and settled back in Missouri, but years of drinking and smoking unfiltered cigarettes took a toll on his body.
I lost my father when he was 47 (I was 21). I never had a chance to tell him how proud I was of him. My parents divorced when I was 2 and him being a career Navy man, he wasn't "home" much.
We had different ideas of what kind of a man I should be. Him: God and country. Me: Sex, drugs and rock'n' roll. This didn't mix well with us. But in the end we became good friends.
I miss you, Dad, and I'm proud to be your son.
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