My parents were adults on December 7, 1941. Dad was five days away from his 28th birthday. He worked as a polisher for the Colonial Knife Company and was also in the National Guard. Mom was 24 (about to turn 25 in two months). I think she was still working at Coro at the time, although she might have gone over to Trifari by then. So in our home World War II wasn't something from a book; it was as real as the things happening in my own childhood: the Bay of Pigs, Kennedy's assassination, Vietnam. It was easy to open a door into their world: just ask a question or go into the attic and look at the war maps cut from the paper, Dad's medals and photos, the front page announcement of FDR's death. (Or just walk into my Papà's house, which always looked like it hadn't changed much from that time.)

I never did ask my Dad what he was doing on December 7; I do know that as National Guard he was mobilized immediately. I regret I never had asked; I suppose I should talk to one of his sisters about any recollections.

Mom and the family had gone to church that morning, of course, and after Sunday dinner she had gone visiting a cousin. She was walking past someone's home and they had opened the window and called out to her about the announcement just on the radio. I remember her telling me that when the news was confirmed she and other family members and friends went to church. It was crowded with other people who had come out to pray. I can imagine the inside of that old-fashioned Catholic church still: just a little dim inside, the votive candles flickering (certainly many of them must have been lighted that day), the scent of warm wax and incense and wool coats and the December cold that blew in each time the next person opened the door, looking for solace.

I always think a lot about those lives lost and those others changed on this anniversary, but this year, with Mom gone, it is especially sad.

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 12:48:00 PM

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