Dad’s Service Appreciated

By Danny Lee

As a child, I always assumed that Christmas must have been as much fun for my parents as it was for my sister and me.

 Growing up in a quiet South Oceanside neighborhood in the 1950s and ’60s was what I considered a very special experience. My parents had moved to California from Mississippi in 1948 and were living the American dream. Each year seemed to be better than the one before and each Christmas more wonderful.

And yet each year, just around Christmas, I noticed an odd quietness in my dad that I couldn’t quite understand. It wasn’t until years later that I began to fully understand this mysterious change in behavior.

My father, like most men his age, had served in World War II. He had left the hard life of the family farm in Mississippi and joined the Army, where he became a medic.

It took him to the cold snow-covered countryside of the Ardenne Forest of Belgium. Surviving battle was only a part of the ordeal to come.

The German winter offensive of 1944 cut off supplies and reinforcements to his unit, leaving them at the mercy of the advancing army. On the afternoon of December 19, 1944, the order came down to surrender. My father and his unit were taken prisoners and forced to march toward the German lines. With nothing to eat, no shelter from rain and snow, and little rest, they were herded into freight boxcars and transported further into Germany.

On December 24, the train convoy was halted and diverted onto a side track in a freight yard. That evening, in the cold and dark confines of those crowded boxcars, the exhausted and beleaguered men huddled together for warmth and comfort.

However, in the skies above, the sound of British bombers could be heard. Their Christmas Eve raid on the freight yard rained bombs on their unseen allies. Prayers, pleas and promises could be heard as the men could do nothing but wait. Many men lost their lives, but my father miraculously survived the destruction.

For years to come, the memories of that night and subsequent 3½ months of internment in a POW camp, Stalag 9B, caused feelings that were sometimes too difficult to hide or even share, especially during this time of year.

I often find myself thinking about that painful experience in my father’s life and the incredible sacrifice that he and others made in order for me and my family to enjoy each Christmas with all of its real peace and joy and wonderful memories.

Thank you Dad for all you’ve done.