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June 17, 2012
Dear Dad,
One of my first memories of
you is of me running across the front lawn as you walked home from
work and jumping into your arms. I was about three years old and you
would swing me around and around, making me squeal with delight.
This was a daily occurrence as you worked on a dairy farm and there
were five of us kids, all racing to you for our hugs. It was the
1950's.
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The Wheelock Family, circa 1959
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It wasn't long before I learned you had served in the
82nd Airborne Division of the United States Army during
World War II. You enlisted as soon as you could leave your
civilian responsibilities after the war started. Although
you didn't talk much about those years to us as we were
growing up, two of your favorite television shows were
“Hogan's Heroes” and “Combat.” Every week we would watch
them together. “Hogan's Heroes” brought you laughter
regarding those years spent in Europe and “Combat” brought
back the reality and horror of those same times. Because
they were your favorites, at the time they were mine too,
and to this day if I catch a rerun of either of those shows,
I will watch it and remember those evenings spent connecting
with you.
As I grew older, I also grew more curious
about those years and would sometimes ask questions as we
sat on the porch swing, watching and waiting for the rain to
start or end so you could get back to your farm work. You
often skirted those questions, but sometimes you would open
up a little and talk about them, your comrades and your
friends. I could tell your Army days were a part of you in
one way or another. I remember a cigar box of foreign coins
and tokens dated from the early 1900's, memorabilia from
Italy, France, Germany and England. I also recall in that
same cigar box were various metals, badges and citations,
one of which was a Purple Heart. One day I retrieved the box
and went through it with you, asking you what each one was
and how you got it. You talked about being in the Normandy
Invasion, and the Battle of the Bulge. You talked about how
you became a Sergeant; every time a Sergeant in your troop
was killed or wounded and sent home, they would promote the
next one in line right there on the battlefield. You talked
about some of the men you had fought with and when I asked
if any had died, you grimaced and said, “Lots of them.” When
I asked how you got the Purple Heart you said you received
it because a German land mine blew up near you, throwing
pieces of shrapnel into your right arm and leg. You showed
me the scars once, and I can still picture them in my mind,
wondering who would have been my father if you had been hit
in a different spot. One time, with the innocence and
naivety of a young girl living in those times, I asked if
you had ever killed anyone. You responded gruffly, “Yes,”
and quickly changed the subject. There was something about
the look on your face, sad and a little lonely, that kept me
from asking more. Now I realize that whatever you had faced
over there—you and all the men who have fought in American
wars throughout the years—enabled me to have that innocence.
Sometimes you would talk about your paratrooper jumps.
Your face would relax and you'd smile making me realize your
favorite part of being in the service must have been the
flying and jumping out of an airplane. When you told me the
training you received prior to your first jump, I was
amazed. They sent you up onto a small tower and you had to
jump to the ground. Then they taught you how to don a
parachute and pull the cord. That was it. You were then
ready to jump out of an airplane. However, you enjoyed it so
much that you became a pilot after you got out and would
take us kids flying and even let us help “steer” the
airplane. Because of my memories of those days, I added
skydiving to my bucket list and did so several years ago,
receiving more training for my one jump than you had for
your many. I thought of you while I did it and for the first
time could truly appreciate why you enjoyed it so much.
You were the best Father a child could have. As many
families in those times, we didn't have a lot but we were
happy and felt loved by you and Mom. Just as your Army years
shaped you into the man and Father I knew and adored, they
helped shape your children into the adults we have become.
You died in August 1983. After the funeral and all the
family had gone home, I was going through some of your
things and found your billfold. With teary eyes I went
through it piece by piece, through the pictures of us kids,
your grandkids and Mom, your driver's license, a gas card,
your social security card, pilot's license, and five 100
dollar bills—one for each of your children, until I came to
a piece of paper, old and yellowed with 40 years of age and
with words written on it in your familiar handwriting. It
was a man's name and his address. The address was in England
and the name had a military rank in front of it. After all
these years, you still carried that piece of paper. I had
never heard the name before, but it brought home to me just
how much your Army service and the men you had served with
had meant to you. Although we had attended numerous 82nd
Airborne Division reunions and as long as I knew you, you
were a member of the American Legion, that little scrap of
paper made me realize that your service had always been a
part of who you were, and still are to this day in the
hearts and lives of your children.
Thank you, Dad,
for the life you gave me and for helping me to become the
person I am today.
I love you,
Terri
By Terri Wheelock Hejduk
From
Department of Veterans Affairs - Vantage Point
Copyright 2012
About Author: Terri Wheelock Hejduk recently retired from the
Federal Bureau of Prisons in Terre Haute, Indiana, as the Human
Resource Manager. She spends most of her time with her grandkids and
traveling. Terri resides in Highland, Illinois with her husband
John.
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