65 Years Later

This weekend marks the 65th anniversary of D-Day. An occasion that happened so long before my birth that it seems like lifetimes ago.

It's a historic occasion. One marked with death, sadness, and pride in the faith and sacrifice of so many men.

Men like your husband, your father, your boyfriend, your nephew, your brother, your son. Men with wives, daughters, sons, mothers, fathers...families...were willing to give their lives to the cause of freedom.

Freedom from tyranny. Freedom from oppression. Freedom to live how we live today.

My Grandfather Matteson fought in World War II. He wasn't in Normandy. He didn't brave the beaches at Omaha. In fact, he rarely spoke of his experience at all.

He was in the Navy on an aircraft carrier in the South Pacific during most of the war. He was simply a mechanic. He didn't fly the planes. He didn't drop from the sky with a parachute on this back. He maintained the aircraft that allowed others to do those things.

When he left for the war he left a wife at home. A woman pregnant with his first child. He boarded the carrier and served his country proudly. After a year, his superior officer gave him the opportunity to return home reportedly saying, "Worth, you've served your time, and you can leave, but this war needs your skills here."

My grandfather, realizing this importance of this statement, and the opportunity it presented him, said, "Sir, I have a child at home I've never seen. I have to go."

And he did.

Two days after his departure, the aircraft carrier where he was stationed sent a plane carrying an atomic bomb to Hiroshima. The carrier was on its way there...the thick of the war. He was part of a crew delivering one of the final acts of World War II.

He returned to Arkansas to hold his first born son a year after his birth, and lived to see his wife give birth to a second son...my father.

He never spoke of World War II or his experience there. The only comment I ever heard him say was, "You'd be surprised to know how fast aircraft carriers move."

That was it. It was long after his death that I heard the story of his decision to come home. He never said it, but I'm sure he lived most of his life wishing he'd stayed to serve his country longer. He was just that kind of person.

I, on the other hand, am glad he chose to come home. Otherwise I might not be here today, and I might not have ever known such a brave, loving, caring and extremely secretive man as he.

Today I think of you, Grandy.

I thank you for your service to our country. You served your country behind the scenes, doing what you always did best, and you kept our country safe by doing it.

I wish I knew more of your time during the war. Maybe you knew there was an atomic bomb on that ship, and I'll never know you did. Regardless, you served our country proudly, and I and so many others thank you for your service.

I also thank you for being a simple and amazing man.

A man who, yes, kept his dark war days to himself, but also a man who taught me not to peel out in gravel. A man who taught my father to be a good father, my uncle to be a good uncle. A man who taught my brother and cousins the importance of respecting women. A man who taught me what to expect out of men.

But most of all, a man who held me on his knee and called me Sweet Potato.

Grandy, I love you, and I miss you.

--Sweet Potato.