For My Dad

Written by: Jack Ross jr.

More than two years it be since me old dad had to fly. I miss him you know, he was 
my best friend. I miss the twinkle in his Scottish,Irish,American eyes, a kind and 
caring Gent was he. Times there are when I sit on the porch and talk to him, like he 
was there next to me. If anyone was to hear they'd think a loony man I be, guess I 
wouldn't disagree. At the the age of three orphaned was he, placed in the 
orphanage with two of his four brothers. Cruel treatment he did receive, still had the 
scars to witness the abuse they dealt him, undeserved though it be. Never did 
break him, stubborn he was, passed down by his anstery, can say the same for me. 
Great depression was on, none could afford another mouth to feed. At the age of 
fourteen put out on the street , all because he refused to stay with a farmer who 
wouldn't let him finish school. All the man wanted was for dad to be his tool. A little 
help from a friend and some kindly Gents, a sleeping room he did get. Worked three 
jobs finished high school, I told you stubborn he be. Old Uncle Sam drafted him then, 
a soldier they needed him to be. Only five nine one hundred thirty five he was 
soakin wet. Balck hair, hazel eyes, a fine looking lad was he. Thirty cal. machine 
gunner he was assigned, to everyone's surprise. Little man was he, but the heart of 
a lion he did have. From the shores of France to Berlin he did fight. Bronze star for 
valor, Holocaust memorial award, battle for Atlantic,European theater,Seinne river 
crossing, Rhine river crossing, battle of the buldge, army of occupation, all these 
medals he did receive. I know if they'd asked him do you want to fight a war? No 
thanks he would have said, for a peaceful man I be. The day they placed him in the 
ground, amist his World War II brothers, the sky was crying, and so was I. Taps for 
him they did blow, gun salute. Folded the flag and gave it to my mom, in her eyes I 
could see that her world had come to an end. Such pain in my heart, I just wanted to and flee. Instead I stubbornly stood there, to honor the memory of my dad.

In Loving memory of my dad: W. Jack Ross :  1924-2009: I still miss him.