On this day, Memorial Day, and always, I remember my Dad. I didn’t have him for very long, he was killed in an airplane crash in December 1958, I was only 9. He was away from us, stationed along the Aleutian Chain in Alaska. He was on his way back to Shemya from Anchorage, when the plane lost ground control and crashed into a mountain, never to be found.
He was a kind and loving man. He and my mother married when she was only 16, he was a bit older than her. He was born in Humble, Texas, a middle weight boxer in his youth.
They had a struggle getting pregnant, but 8 years later, while they were stationed in Japan, along I came. Born in an Air Force Hospital in Tokyo to American parents, I became a naturalized American citizen.
My parents were a fun-loving couple, always having parties, lots of friends. They danced like Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse. They made me take Ballroom Dancing. I remember the most fun was dancing with my Dad, he knew the moves.
I see him from time to time, the wit I inherited along with those eyes. They’re my eyes and my son’s. And now, I can see those eyes in one of the twins.
Live on Dear Man, we’ll meet again one of these days.
[5-25-2020]
Posted in 
Thank you for this wonderful remembrance. I also had a fabulous father. We were very lucky.
Sincerely,
Linda C. Elissalde