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I have very few TV programs i look forward to seeing on a regular basis...NCIS is one. This of course has nothing to do with today's edition, other than that's what I am doing (watching TV) as i am writing this, the alleged season premiere is on.
i say alleged, because as some of you may remember, back in them olden days, TV programming season started about the time school went in session and re-runs didn't start until about Memorial Day. I other words, you could look forward to several months of entertainment, without seeing the same stories repeated. Now the networks compete against cable, the Internet, satellite TV, video on demand and DVD rentals ( not that long ago VHS rentals) as well , the old watch our channel or do what, read, go to the movies...well those times are gone. And with them the incentive to produce decent shows, with some plot, some story, some character development, and sustain that show for more than say 9 or 12 weeks, or whatever they decide now is a season. Not that the plots in NCIS are that intricate, but they will suffice...oh, and the fact that Mark Harmon is in it doesn't hurt (OK, its a me and millions of other women thing.)
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Baby boomers are really proof that America was happy World War II was over, and has a product of that, our population from the start of the baby boom to now has doubled ( 132,481,000 then to 301,139,947 now).
1945 (the start of the Baby Boom) was 62 years ago, as my brother in law can verify, being born spring 1945, amazingly 9 months after his dad got leave before shipping out from serving in the Atlantic fleet to the pacific.
Our daughter barely got to know her grandfather, and he never spoke about the The War, which Ken Burns now has selected to document. He never spoke of it to my brother in law or my honey, but he did once talk about it to me, when we were sitting outside in the shade on summer afternoon. I said something, and we started talking about the weather. I absolutely hate the heat, especially the humidity of the southern states. He got onto the subject of extreme cold, saying he could take the heat better than that damn cold, and then told me a story about crossing the northern Pacific. He told me about the duty he pulled with other men, knocking ice off the ship, as the bow broke through the waves; about when the storm passed, then they prayed for it to return, because now a submarine tracked them, and he and some other men at battle stations watched a torpedo pass by in the choppy waters, pop through a trough in the water and disappear into the next wave, missing the ship. It wasn't until after his death several years later, we found a box, with medals and commendations. His ship had sailed from Washington state, across the northern Pacific, to Russia; he and the others then returned and headed south, back to Washington, picked up a new liberty ship, headed to Hawaii and then on to Iwo Jima.. and later to Okinawa. His own family never knew. The only stories he ever told them were related to some snap shots he had of him and some buddies in Panama.
My honey is a Vietnam era veteran, but never actually had to serve there, or so I thought, until last year. I wrote for his medals and commendations to make sure his (our) daughter knew what his service entailed. I was inspired to do so because she had started to bug me with stories about how her new father in-law is a war hero, which I don't know to be not true, but given his gift of gab, i doubt. He says he went in the service in 59 and got out in 63, so I have no idea what she is talking about.
I decided to make a scrap book, and give it to her. To my surprise honey's records show (DD214) "VietNam Service, National Defense Medal, and Good Conduct Medal, and some other "Foreign Awards"...I doubt you can understand the level of disbelief (HB always says when asked "I m just a Nam era vet") so when I asked about this, there was a pause, and then more pause. Finally out came details about a dream(nightmare) HB has had on and off for God knows how long, about being in a helicopter called a "sea knight", and flying into a landing area seeing red tracers going out of the zone and green ones coming in; of how they " landed" and 30 men ran out the back, jumping into tall grass in the dark, realizing the grass was 6 feet high, and tumbling all over each other "which probably saved out GD lives" as the helicopter took several rounds and took off trailing smoke. (This goes a great deal in hindsight to me understanding how he could watch hour after hour of the coverage of our invasion of Iraq, occasionally a tear streaming down his cheek, muttering to himself. )
HB never wants to go the state Vietnam memorial in Capitol Park in Sacramento, always chooses to sit in the rose garden and a couple of times I have seen him cry...Once when we were dating, he took me there, walked over to a particular slab, rubbed it with his hand talking softly, then came back to the car..and started crying. He told me he didn't understand why he was here and they weren't. I feel bad, knowing he went to a hellhole, and never wants to think of it again. I can't blame him, even if i can't really comprehend it.
When he and other vets get together, its like they are long lost brothers. For example, once at the county fair. We walked over to a display "US Marines" staffed by three young men, looking pretty good in their blue tunics.
HB, ponytailed, tie-dyed tshirt and sandal wearing, beer in hand, walked up to this startled young man and blurted out "Semper Fi Marine, I was a Marine back in Nam" The young Marine almost snapped to attention, and yelled to his comrades, and soon they were all talking and smiling, like friends who had not seen each other in years. I asked him if he knew them and he smiled, and told me he had never seen them before, but they shared something, they could say they were Marines. We came away from there with a poster than says Marines,and a lot of those foil stickers, which now adorn the beer fridge in the garage/man cave, and the back of the cars...
Thinking of this helps me understand why I cry when i watch the people in the Ken Burns program describe what they did, knowing it's not just history, its them, they lived it. HB says (at least now we talk about it) he used to regret being alive, because he has friends on the wall...I'm sorry HB. Sorry folks, i got to change topic now, OK.
Anyway, after all this, HB one day decided he should order some special plates for the cars, so I got 9/11 We Will Never Forget plates
Anyway, now you know some more about me, about my family, and why we support our soldiers, sailors, Marines, and ever those Air Force guys(smile)...but that's another edition.
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