War Torn Dad essays
There he stood, tall and handsome among the war torn airfield. How proud he was to be an American. His face was worn and tired, as if he had aged over ten years. His jagged uniform had been neatly washed and pressed, although it had been tattered and torn by the many hazards of war. The most visible scars of war you cannot see on his face, but there was something about him. Something slightly battered by the war, not in his appearance, but in the depths of his cold gray eyes. Some acts of war were just plain unspeakable, and others were just too painful to remember. All the cruel realities of war had taken its toll on this young man's life.
It was August 30, 1946 in Fritzler, Germany. Almost one year after World War II had rained death and destruction around the world. The smoke-drenched sky above was like a blanket of gray mist covering every inch as far as the eye could see. The crippled airfield that appeared behind him had been severely damaged by the brutal bombings and constant shelling that had rained over the airfield day after day from their enemy aircraft. Their once mighty war machines that had clashed over the battle lines and tried to sweep the enemy from the skies as if it were brooms sweeping up dust, were now graved in hangers that had been severely beaten and disheveled. The airborne operations that had once taken place here were no more. All the tactical and strategic planning here was greatly underestimated.Allied forces in overwhelming strength had pounded the once powerful airfield with daily raids until it was a graveyard of crumpled and distorted metal.
This man who gave his blood, sweat and tears for our country is my father.There are no physical scars to be seen, but on the inside the scars are very real. The suffering from this tragic war is felt from day to day and mostly in silence. One of the most memorable things that I remember as a child growing up is the fac