In the late '50's, we were stationed in Japan. In order to get to Japan, we took a "cruise" on a troop transport ship. I was very young, probably around three years old at the time. I can remember walking around the deck, and looking down through the railing to the deck below. I remember seeing lots of white sailor's hats from up above. I don't really remember seeing the actual sailors that were wearing them, but the white hats stand out in my memory. I remember sitting in the mess hall on the ship and watching my soup rock in the bowl from the wave action. My mother told me that when we first started our "cruise", the mess hall was full of people, but after a day or so, we were frequently almost alone. Most of the people were going to the ship's store and buying a box of crackers to eat in their cabins, because they were seasick. Dad made sure we had regular walks around the deck. To this day, and to the best of my knowledge, I have never been seasick. I believe that it is all in one's mind. I know, there are people who will say, "No, you're wrong. It's all in my gut." I disagree. When we were in Florida in the late 60's and early 70's, Dad bought a boat. An 18 1/2' boat so that we could go skiing and fishing. One time, we were fishing in the Gulf. There were swells of 5 to 8 feet that day. But it wasn't "rough". The swells were smooth and rounded, so the boat just rode up and down. My brother Bryan concentrated maybe a little too hard on the movement of the boat. Soon, he was throwing up over the side. Shortly after he became "sick", a fish took one of the baits we were trolling. At Dad's direction, the rod was removed from the rod holder, the hook "set", and handed to Bryan. Needless to say, he forgot about his seasickness, and fought the 17-lb. mackerel to the side of the boat. To my knowledge, he has never been seasick since.
I recently got a letter from my Mom, who had been reading my "blog". She related to me the story of how, when we were to leave MacDill AFB for Davis-Monthan, she and Dad went to Arizona to find housing. When they got to the housing office (for base housing) they were shown a map of the available houses on base. A woman who happened to be there at the same time, pointed out a particular address and told them,"You don't want to live in this one. The next door neighbors are Negroes." Dad told the housing officer, "We'll take that one." Maybe he saw an opportunity for a "lesson" in the future, but it was a lesson that never had to be taught. Like I wrote in an earlier post, we were never taught prejudice. I remember in Clovis, NM (Dad was stationed at Cannon AFB) in 1959-1960, that my friend and I were walking through the neighborhood (I was probably barely six years old) when a young black man rode by us on a bicycle. My friend pointed at him as he disappeared down the street and asked me, "'You know what that was? That was a nigger." I had never heard that word before in my life, and thought that it was a strange-sounding word. It would be years before I would finally make the connection between that ugly word and skin color. It was certainly a word I had never heard at MY house. In fact, I promptly forgot about the incident, and forgot about the word. My dad never used that word, and he was able to teach me that it, and other derogatory terms, were unacceptable. In fact, if he had used that word, he probably would have clarified his position that it had nothing to do with color. After I got out on my own, I realized that I knew very few black people that might "qualify" for that word, but I knew plenty of "white" people that warranted the label. I find the word distasteful.
Anyway, back to Japan. When we arrived in Japan, we didn't have our base housing yet, so we were billeted in temporary housing called "Wherry Housing". They were probably portable buildings. Anyway, I remember we had a radiant heater/furnace in our "house". Every night after dinner, Dad would walk over and stand in front of the heater, and I would stand next to him. He would reach out his hands and warm them over the heat, then turn his hands over and warm the back of his hands. He would repeat this about three times. I copied every move he made. And I knew, that after the third "hand flip", that it was time for me to go to bed. I know it doesn't seem like much, but I recently had an insight as to how he might have felt: when my youngest grandson, Clayton, and his daddy (my son) came over for my birthday. Clayton is two years old. After he "warmed up" to being at Grandma Janet and Grandpa's house, he followed me around the room and mimicked a lot of my actions. "Imitation" is said to be the sincerest form of flattery. I was awfully flattered that day, and I immediately remembered copying my Dad's actions at the heater so many years ago.
I recently got a letter from my Mom, who had been reading my "blog". She related to me the story of how, when we were to leave MacDill AFB for Davis-Monthan, she and Dad went to Arizona to find housing. When they got to the housing office (for base housing) they were shown a map of the available houses on base. A woman who happened to be there at the same time, pointed out a particular address and told them,"You don't want to live in this one. The next door neighbors are Negroes." Dad told the housing officer, "We'll take that one." Maybe he saw an opportunity for a "lesson" in the future, but it was a lesson that never had to be taught. Like I wrote in an earlier post, we were never taught prejudice. I remember in Clovis, NM (Dad was stationed at Cannon AFB) in 1959-1960, that my friend and I were walking through the neighborhood (I was probably barely six years old) when a young black man rode by us on a bicycle. My friend pointed at him as he disappeared down the street and asked me, "'You know what that was? That was a nigger." I had never heard that word before in my life, and thought that it was a strange-sounding word. It would be years before I would finally make the connection between that ugly word and skin color. It was certainly a word I had never heard at MY house. In fact, I promptly forgot about the incident, and forgot about the word. My dad never used that word, and he was able to teach me that it, and other derogatory terms, were unacceptable. In fact, if he had used that word, he probably would have clarified his position that it had nothing to do with color. After I got out on my own, I realized that I knew very few black people that might "qualify" for that word, but I knew plenty of "white" people that warranted the label. I find the word distasteful.
Anyway, back to Japan. When we arrived in Japan, we didn't have our base housing yet, so we were billeted in temporary housing called "Wherry Housing". They were probably portable buildings. Anyway, I remember we had a radiant heater/furnace in our "house". Every night after dinner, Dad would walk over and stand in front of the heater, and I would stand next to him. He would reach out his hands and warm them over the heat, then turn his hands over and warm the back of his hands. He would repeat this about three times. I copied every move he made. And I knew, that after the third "hand flip", that it was time for me to go to bed. I know it doesn't seem like much, but I recently had an insight as to how he might have felt: when my youngest grandson, Clayton, and his daddy (my son) came over for my birthday. Clayton is two years old. After he "warmed up" to being at Grandma Janet and Grandpa's house, he followed me around the room and mimicked a lot of my actions. "Imitation" is said to be the sincerest form of flattery. I was awfully flattered that day, and I immediately remembered copying my Dad's actions at the heater so many years ago.
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