I can’t imagine that Daddy was happy with the composition of this picture. After all, in 1950, this just wasn’t how most people holding a twin reflex camera tried to capture a scene.
However, I am captivated by it.
These soldiers were very young. My dad was only 22. He had never traveled more than 6 hours away from his home in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. I can only imagine how he felt being on a ship headed for Germany.
Unfortunately, Daddy died in 1999. He died before I had these photographs in my possession. He died before I could take each one of these photos and ask him to tell me the story behind it.
This photograph has always caused me to stop and think about our country and about the men and women who have served in our military in order to provide the opportunity to celebrate our freedom. Today is that day of celebration.
This day, the fourth of July, Independence Day, has always been exciting for me. I’ve always loved parades. The marching bands. Red, white, and blue. Flags proudly flying. Fireworks. Watermelon. Blackberry cobbler. Barbecue (In the South “barbecue” is a noun, not the verb you hear in other parts of the country. Barbecue is something we Southerners eat – not something we do. Just sayin’).
I may or not be the woman you see along the parade route, wiping her eyes as the parade participants pass by. I may or may not be a mama who encourages her family to get close enough to the fireworks that cinder fallout is an added excitement factor. I may or may not be the woman who is eating loads of watermelon, with ahuge barbecue sandwich, potato chips and baked beans on a paper plate alongside all my family. I probably have in my possession more than a few sparklers, some fresh cans of bug spray, lawn chairs and a blanket just in case it cools off after it gets dark. (if only we could be so lucky)
I love this day. I love this country. I love my daddy. And I love his photograph.
I may or may not be wiping a few tears right about now.
|copyright 2016 ElizaDHill|