Most Important Day of My Life

The most important day of my life was December 7, 1941.

Yes, it was also the “Day of Infamy.” One of the worst days in U.S. history. At the same time, it was one of the best days in U.S. history. And, even though I wasn’t born until 581 days later, it was the most important day of my life.

Let’s take those three statements one at a time.

WORST DAY

The attack on Pearl Harbor was but one of a series of nine Japanese attacks planned for the same day, attacks aimed at strategic British and American military installations throughout the Pacific – Pearl Harbor, Guam, Wake Island, Singapore, British Malaya. Burma, Thailand, the Dutch East Indies, and the Philippine Islands. All of the attacks proceeded according to schedule except the one aimed at the Philippines.

I wrote the paragraph above as the ghost writer on The War Journal of Major Damon “Rocky” Gause – one of the first American heroes of World War II. It was published in English and Japanese.

I didn’t know about the other attacks until I performed the research for the book. The amazing part is that the targets were located in different time zones, yet were synchronized without the help of today’s communications technology.

Fog over Formosa – Taiwan as we know it today – socked in the Jap bombers and delayed the attack on the Philippines. General MacArthur was in charge of the Philippines. Because of the attack on Pearl Harbor, he was given advance warning of the impending attack on the Philippines. Unfortunately, he fiddled while Rome burned. But that’s a story for another day.

So both the U.S. and Great Britain suffered huge losses that day. And the fact that these were sneak attacks that claimed thousands and thousands of victims prompted President Franklin D. Roosevelt to coin the term “Day of Infamy” to describe the attacks.

BEST DAY

The sneak attack on Pearl Harbor solidified the United States into a nation of patriots who refused to be beaten. Able-bodied men volunteered to serve their country. The women left behind assumed roles in the work force previously occupied by men. Airplanes, warships, weapons and munitions rolled off the assembly lines to galvanize the military into the most powerful force in the history of the world.

It wasn’t easy. Sacrifices at home and abroad. But the U.S. rebounded from that Day of Infamy and kicked the – pardon my French – kicked the living shit out of Japan, Germany, and all of their allies. We wouldn’t be the country we are today if it not for Pearl Harbor.

MY DAY

My parents were boyfriend and girlfriend on December 7, 1941. They were in their mid-30s. Maybe they would’ve gotten married, maybe they wouldn’t. But because Japan bombed Pearl Harbor and Roosevelt declared war, my father was suddenly in the military. And he was going to be shipped overseas. What should they do?

My mother and father took their vows on December 31, 1941 – New Year’s Eve. Just 24 days after Pearl Harbor. Again, maybe they would’ve gotten married, maybe they wouldn’t. But because my father was shipping out, they got married.

After boot camp, my father went to flight training in Pensacola, Florida. That delayed his departure overseas. That delayed his departure long enough for my mother to travel to Florida to share my father’s weekend passes with him at a motel in Wakulla Springs. It was then and there, on one of those weekend passes, that I was conceived.

My father was stationed in France when I was born on July, 11, 1943 – a full 581 days after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Flying regular missions over Germany in a B-17, hoping to hell he wouldn’t get shot down before he came home to meet his son.

He made it.

We met when I was two-and-a-half and the three of us shared a special relationship that endured until the days they died – and beyond.