A story about your Dad’s life..

[kingoffleece]

44 combat missions in B-24's out of Darwin.  Attained rank of Caption.  Brought home 3 damaged airplanes-two of which never flew again.
Told me "I was 20.  They told me to get in the plane, fly it over there, drop the bombs, and fly it back.  So I did."

US Army Air Corp.

[Tkelly]

My Dad was a B24 test pilot for Henry Ford in Michigan.Fortunatel y he dropped out of College in 1939 to work on his flying license.He was an instructor at age22 and he had enough experience that he got that job when the plant opened and did it til the end of the war.I did not respect his service because he never went overseas but as I grew up I realized howdangerous his job actually was.When those planes rolled off the assembly line somebody had to see if they would fly that first time that’s what he did.

[MarcoSolo]

I’m reminded of my Dad today, he’s been gone 23 years and Mum joined him a couple of years back.
This weekend I’m going with my young bloke Christopher for a weekend ride, him on his BMW R 1200 GS and me on my V85 trail bike.
We are going to a cooler location on the Southern Coast, partly to escape the Northern 90 deg F heat and for another deeper seated reason.

In 1973 I was 15 years old and Dad had a T500 Suzuki Titan.
An exact replica of this one.


He decided on a whim to head off with me on what I now see was a largely underprepared and underfunded trip. We headed off two up on the Spewzuki and must have looked for all the world like the Beverly Hillbillies, rollicking off down the road in a cloud of blue two stroke with pots, pans and kerosine lanterns hanging off the bike.
I was wedged in the scant remaining space between Dad and the rear mountain of luggage “secured” by rope of all things, because we had no bungee cords.
The day was pleasant enough and although we did not have a tent, Dad had procured a rubberised ground sheet about 8’x4’ that was sure to ward off any adverse weather that the Southern Ocean in late Autumn may throw at us..
Late afternoon rolled around and we stopped on the outskirts of a small seaside town called Nelson, on the South Coast. There were no established facilities and the wind was on shore from the southwest...Not good.
By the time we had heated the tinned stew and hot tea on the makeshift fire, darkness was looming and the cold wind began to build. I could see a measure of concern on Dad’s face and although he was a man who I thought feared nothing, he looked to the South with a degree of tension.
Under instruction I gathered up armfuls of seaside brush and built a windbreak whilst Dad scooped sand on top, which formed a very effective barrier to the elements and with the wind diverted somewhat, the cold abated....
For now.
But darkness fell and although I knew he had done as much as he could for my protection, he would not have the benefit of enough cover for us both.
Now being 15 years old, I was starting to realise that although under his protection, I was growing mentally to the point where I wanted to share the burden of discomfort to some extent, but I knew Dad’s welfare would be sacrificed to ensure mine..
It did not sit well inside me.
By 10 pm it was very cold and I was unable to sleep, with the groundsheet flapping in the wind and the guilt of knowing that Dad had virtually no protection. Also at my age, I did not feel uncomfortable in close proximity, but in that exact situation I felt a little awkward and I’m sure he knew it.
I knew if I could get warmer in my exhausted state I could sleep, but there seemed no way to improve things under the circumstances.
Still, in the chill and absolute dark, Dad asked if I wanted to move closer and pull the covering over, at that age I was gripped by the conflicting emotions of being freezing cold and huddling together with another male, father or otherwise, but the decision was taken from me as in the absolute dark he said...
“Come a bit closer and warm up..”
I will admit that although he was as warm as my favourite blanket, I held some fears that it was not something I wanted anyone else to know.
As sleep began to claim me, I was now comfortable and as if he knew my dilemma, his words came out of the dark..
“Don’t worry Pete, I won’t tell your mates..”
I understand how many jokes this story could produce, but back then it was a nice moment for me and a beautiful morning came around with glass calm and warming sun.
Dad never recounted the events and I’m not sure I ever did with him, but that series of events was about the last time I can recall being protected as a child and while knowing I was leaving that behind, was content to feel the love and care that a fortunate son receives....

Now we are on expensive machines, with wallets that are bulky and uncomfortable to sit on.
Plastic cards that will give us a motel room with hot showers and hearty meals.
Mobile phones if things go wrong...
But did things really go “wrong” on the Southern Coast of Australia in the early seventies, as I was leaving the last few threads of childhood behind ?
I’ve got more now than I’ve ever had, but there are some things that were free then but I can’t buy today..”
I hope he can see us from where he is..

Choked me up a little.  Reminds me of Pirsig and his son, Chris, in the book, "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". I think they were on a two-stroke for his repeat of Phaedrus's trip. "Look, Blackbirds."