Father never cried

Just words

                                                       Father never cried

My father drank his rum and coke every night. As a child, I accepted his want to find peace in the rum. I would sit with him and I saw in his eyes. Deep sorrow and lost. He told me often, "Son, we are going to California. I will find my friend Jon. I want to hear his voice and his laughter. He was my good friend and we drank and fought together in the Korea dirt.

Each morning, he would rise-up and go forward. He never talk of the past. War had taught him anger. Made him a violence man who killed in civil life and in war. He carry a smile and never a negative word to no-one. He told me often. Rate a man by what he does. Not his skin color or race. He loved Martin Luther King Jr. We stood together in Detroit and we heard a lion whispered great words.

One November day in 1970. After the rum kicked in. We drove west to California and we made it to Chicago. At a rest stop. I looked into his sad eyes and he told me. "Son, Jon was killed and I was not. I killed a thousand China soldiers and I wanted to kill more. We are going to visit his grave my son. He was a good friend. Only man willing to stand with a Mexican/Ojibwa man. We chased the women and we drank the rum. We will have few friends my son.

At a grave in a Military grave site outside of San Francisco. My father poured two rum and cokes. He sat and he talked to a uncared for and lonely grave.  He pulled out the weeds and the dead grass with his bare hands. I sat with him and I helped him clean the grave. My father looked at me and he told me. Jon would appreciate the kindness. Damn war steal the best from us. My division lost more than half. Left blood soaked land with our boys blood. Thank you son for coming along, I had to say goodbye to Jon.

My father never talk of war to me no-more. We went home and he drank his rum and coke nightly. I heard him talking to the ghosts every Friday and Saturday. I would listen.

He would asked the ghosts. Why did I live and you did not? Father watched me leave for war. I saw the sorrow in his eyes. He never told me. Don't follow my footsteps and I did follow.

Now I visit friend lost in the new wars. I drink a miller by a dear friend grave. I asked the gravestone. Why did I live and you did not? I told the gravestone. I miss you my friend. Your children are doing well and the world is less good without you. I leave the five remaining beers on the lonely grave. I walk to my truck and I remember my father. He got lucky. He met a kind woman and lived his final years doing well. The rum killed him in the end. Rot-gutted his stomach and he never complain about the way life treated him.

Now I learn. Good friends are gold. The time of our youth, the wealth of our, not to be wasted. Everyday is a gift and I pray. No-more war. Enough blood spend for the cost of hate.

Today soldiers are serving and fighting. The education of the gun and the blood. When will we learn? No-one win in war. War make boys turn to men. Hope turn to blackness and kill the wealth of a nation.

                              Coyote

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Author's Note

Just words.

Reviews

[Onlyme]

Wow, John, This is epic, raw, deep and powerfully meaningful. I could understand why your father drank. And also his demons that he carried within. Due to the war. And lost friends. Being a man is not always an easy task at hand. And I guess the time you spent with your father. And him sharing with you these amazing insights into his past life. Before you were even born. Shows us more what a remarkably decent human being your father was. As are you, Jon. I can see where you get it from now. Great men have great children.

[Alistair (Ali)]

Over here, we have just marked Remembrance Sunday- 100 years since the ending of WW1- The War to end All Wars.
I wonder if , on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month- when the guns fell silent, to be replaced by lark song- did the men and women of the time contemplate the possibility of all this happening again, 20 some odd years later?- and so on and so forth.
I have the deepest respect for those who fought to defend freedom against tyranny- but the tragedy of these Remembrance Parades is that it seems they are becoming gaudy tokenism.
If we and the politicians "truly" remember what happened 100 years ago- would it not be the greater lesson to endeavor never to repeat those horrors?
Today we sell weapons to regimes that bomb cities, kill and displace thousands of people- and then have the audacity to complain about immigrants!
What is it we are trying to "Remember"?

Wonderful thought provoking piece- and sorry for rambling on!

[Coyote Poetry]

Wonderful rambling. USA spend 25% of taxes for the war machine. Hard to understand my friend. Thank you for reading and the comment. I do appreciate.

[MOON]

Poignant and beautifully told. History teaches us nothing.

[Coyote Poetry]

You are right my friend and thank you for reading and the comment.

[LazerRays]

War has a harsh effect on ones mental health... Your poor father struggles with those hauntings of the past. And that question "why did I live and he die?" that's an awful burden to bear. This is so emotion filled; I enjoyed this. How sorrowful the message is, and it has deeply affected me

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Sarah. No-one win in war. Just leftover soldiers, people and cities.

[alanwgraham]

Great and direct comment on the futility of war John and how it is the men at the bottom that suffer. And of course their families. I liked how you said your father wanted to find his old friend and then it turned out it was his grave. A very poignant description. Your answer to when will we ever learn is obvious!
Well done for sharing this very personal story.
Regards,
Alan

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Alan and you are right. Men, won't learn till a terrible action occurred.

[NotUsinganymore]

Very nice poem. I lost my father at a young age and my mother never once spoke to me about him or what he was like. All she said I had his eyes and she would avoid me. Because she hated the way I looked like my father so much. God bless your father.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you JungLee. I appreciate the comment. A mother should love her son.

[Alexandra]

I love the deep, harsh, and emotional. It is remarkable that he was able to tell you all this.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Alexandra. I appreciate the comment.

[Lydia Shutter]

What a powerful write this is. Sounds like your Dad had a bit of PTSD. When soldiers come home from the battlefield, they bring demons with them. Your father was a compassionate and empathetic man and his very soul was tortured by the things he had experienced. You were fortunate he shared so much of this with you. Truly a touching story. Lydi**

[Coyote Poetry]

Dad had PTSD. A very violence man. He had a big heart and held great anger near. War teaches men to kill and accept. Thank you Lydia for reading and the comment. I do appreciate.

[Ana Papaya]

I have heard that men who have lived through war don't wish to talk about it but I think it's important to talk about it. It's important to know. So much wisdom and emotion in your story

[Coyote Poetry]

I don't discuss war. Soldiers need to forget. Can't find forgiveness. Must accept what was done. Become a man who stand for peace. My father did. Thank you Ana for reading and the comment.