Fantasy Squadron

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As Veteran’s Day approaches, I remember my late “Uncle Shorty.” When the United States entered World War II, he answered his country’s call to military service. After basic training, the Army sent him to Officer’s Candidate School. Ninety days later he emerged as a second lieutenant preparing to ship out to the Pacific where he would lead an infantry platoon into some zone of hell he had yet to imagine.

Just as he stepped off the gangplank onto a troopship, he received new orders to report to the Pentagon where he spent the rest of the war writing training manuals. He finished with the rank of captain. I had another uncle who fought in North Africa, and another who served in the merchant marine service, but I didn’t see them much. Uncle Shorty was more visible because he served in the States and came home on furlough frequently.

So, Uncle Shorty wasn’t a war hero–but he was my hero. When I asked what he was doing to win the war, he would tell me he was “squirting ink” at the enemy. I was only eight when the war ended, so my imagination was fired up about what he must have been doing. By the way, his name wasn’t really “Shorty”–it was Elmer, after his father, but he didn’t like that name, so he went by “Bud.” I called him Uncle Shorty because he always called me “Shorty.” It was just a little transfer of identity between us.

After the war, many kid’s dads in my Cincinnati neighborhood came home and gave some of their military paraphernalia, such as sergeant’s stripes or a lieutenant’s bar, to their kids. During recess at Clifton School, we boys would spread our arms as though wings of an airplane, then run around the schoolyard like a fantasy squadron in combat. We would say “rat-a-tat-tat” in pretend dog fights shooting each other down. The kid whose dad had the highest rank was the squadron leader.

Now, my dad wasn’t in the military during the war. He was a supervisor on an assembly line at the Curtiss-Wright aircraft plant. We lived in Blue Ash just outside Cincinnati where there was a small airport whose runway ended behind our house.

I recall the scream when one of the Helldivers did demonstration dives at the airport, and another time when they brought in a B-25 bomber for a demonstration. It seemed like the pilot taxied almost into our back yard, then turned the plane, held it with his brakes while revving the engines to full throttle before thundering down the runway and into the air. I can still remember how the ground shook with the vibration of those revved-up twin engines.

By the time the war ended, we had moved back into the city, which is how I came to attend Clifton School. I soon found I had a problem with the squadrons in the schoolyard. Since my dad hadn’t been in the military, I had no rank insignia, so I was excluded from the flying aces during recess–that is until I talked to Uncle Shorty. Being a pretty quick study, he picked up on the problem right away.

Soon afterward he sent me a gift, an Army garrison cap with captain’s bars. Wearing that insignia on the school playground the next day gave me a chance to lead a fantasy squadron of my own.

 

Endurance

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It’s the Fourth of July…our nation’s birthday.  As I returned from walking this morning clouds were building, sometimes blocking the sun briefly.  The view captured here struck me…the sun shining through the blue field on the flag just before disappearing.  I thought of endurance.

Our nation was formed two-hundred-forty-two years ago.  Today’s newspaper carried the full text of the Declaration of Independence, which I read at breakfast.  The ideals that formed our nation were like sunlight bringing faith, hope, purpose–a higher view into a world landscape frequently marred by greed, self-interest, intolerance, and hatred–clouds that confuse and disrupt life.

Clouds always fascinate me.  They can move in with a vengeance, bearing storms that kill and destroy.  They can also paint an overarching canvas of majestic radiance across a sunset landscape.  Clouds change constantly.  Sometimes, as this morning, they can swallow the sun, dimming its presence.  But the sun has endurance.  the storms pass, the sun returns.   

At Gettysburg, Abraham Lincoln described this enduring sun that our nation represents.  He defined it as government “of the people, by the people, for the people.”  That’s what makes us different, strong, flexible, tolerant, and durable.  Sometimes clouds of dissent dim the sunlight of our character, but we come through those ordeals with strength and resolve, wiser for the experience.  We have endurance.

It was on a July morning sixty-two years ago that I stood in a U.S. Army recruiting station and took an oath to defend our nation against all enemies foreign and domestic–to be part of the sun that endures beyond the clouds.  Recently one of my grandsons did the same thing.  He said his country had given him so much, and he wanted to give back.  He wanted to be part of keeping the sun shining.

At the heart of this nation’s formation was a faith in God’s enduring love and purpose, and a desire to order life around that source of sunlight.  That center of endurance will persist with us as long as we remain connected to God at the core of who we are.  Today there are many clouds moving across our landscape.  Sometimes the sun seems to disappear.  But clouds always dissipate, and the sunlight is still there.

Faith, love, hope, and trust in God are essential at the heart of life…of our choices, actions, attitudes, behavior, hopes and dreams…in order for us to be people of sunlight and strength.  We will suffer, grow, and change over the years, but endurance for such times comes from the sun, not the clouds.  Psalm 136:1  says it well:  “O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.”  (NRSV)