Memorial Day and My Dad

 


Memorial Day has been seared into my heart because of my dad, Arthur R. Range.

He was a retired Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S. Army who piloted Search and Rescue missions over “The Hump” of China, Burma, and India during World War II. He later worked in Army Intelligence during the Cold War and ran the Counter Intelligence office in Newark, NJ.

He often said his place in life was to serve God, country, and his family. I hated being number three on the list, but over the years, I learned to live with it.

My father died on Memorial Day 32 years ago. It didn’t feel like happenstance. That was his way, his choice, and it certainly made sense given how he lived his life.

My father showed us the world, whether we were stationed in Heidelberg, Germany, Eatontown, or Long Branch, NJ. Every place was an adventure. He taught me how to fold the American flag, make a bed so a quarter would bounce, and stop whatever I was doing, stand up, and place my hand over my heart whenever I heard the National Anthem.

I was his “Monkey,” and his lessons have made me who I am.

He said:

• There is no such word as “can’t.”
• The harder the hammering, the stronger the steel.
• The world is your oyster.
• Treat everyone with respect.
• Do what you love and love what you do.

I learned that my dad would take three-minute power naps while waiting for takeoff clearance on the narrow landing strips in the jungles of Burma. He told me he did that because he was nervous. He also lovingly placed letters and pictures of his nieces in the cockpit with him for good luck.

Today, I thank the service men and women who gave their lives for our freedom. From our country’s beginnings, they have helped keep us safe and free.

And although Memorial Day brings him especially close to my heart, the truth is, I remember him every day.

Comments

Post a Comment

I'd love to hear your thoughts. Comments are welcome!

Popular posts from this blog

A Mother’s Legacy: Remembering My Mother This Mother’s Day

Image
  Today, while sorting through old photographs and yellowed newspaper clippings, I came across my mother’s obituary. She has been gone for 22 years and yet, somehow, I still feel her presence. Obviously not in a way you can touch or see, but in the guidance that still appears when I need it most. It's in the lessons she taught without ever sitting us down for a formal lecture. It’s in the love that never really leaves us, even after someone is gone. Her obituary described her simply as a “homemaker.” Just one word. But anyone who has ever truly known a mother or grandmother understands that the word homemaker barely scratches the surface. Before marrying my father, my mother had an excellent career in publishing. She was intelligent, capable, organized, and professional long before those qualities were ever recognized in an obituary. Like many women of her generation, she stepped away from one career and unknowingly began another, one that would shape an entire family for...
Read more

When Connection Isn't Immediate

Image
  A place to sit with the day  This morning, I wrote about my yoga intention of being brave and taking a step forward.  Later in the day, I was reminded that sometimes that step doesn’t lead to where we expect.  There are moments in life when we reach out sincerely, simply hoping for connection and sometimes, nothing comes back right away. There’s a pause, a space that can feel larger than it really is.  In that space, it’s easy to start questioning ourselves.  Did I say the wrong thing? Was the timing off? Should I have done things differently? Our minds can play tricks on us and fill in the blanks far too quickly. But perhaps that space is not ours to carry. Perhaps it just is what it is. A moment that didn’t align. A response that didn’t come. A reminder that it’s not a reflection of our worth, but a reflection of timing, circumstance, or where someone else may be in their own life. So we remind ourselves that we can be kind, respectful, ...
Read more

Still Me

Image
  Yesterday I found myself thinking about the ten year old girl I used to be. Today my thoughts moved forward again into another stage of life and what love has meant along the way. It’s funny how our minds sometimes wander back to earlier chapters of our lives. Moments when everything felt new and full of possibility. Like springtime. There is a kind of ache or yearning that can come with those memories, and for the longest time I couldn’t quite name it. Maybe it is my age now but I think I figured it out. Sometimes the yearning we feel when we look back at earlier moments in our lives isn’t about another person at all. It’s about who we were when we were living in that moment. It’s about missing the version of ourselves who lived there. There was an innocence and openness in that time. A belief in possibilities that felt natural and unguarded. So it isn't always about missing another person. For me it's missing the young woman who believed so fully in what life and love mig...
Read more