The Greatest Generation, passing--a poem.

Those of us born in the 1940's and 50's have parents who were part of the "Greatest Generation". They were born in the 1920's or early 30's, were raised during the great depression, and in their late teens and early 20's left farms and family homes to fight a great war in foreign lands from Burma to Africa to Europe. It was the last real World War.

The greatest generation is dying off. Every war baby and post war boomer baby is losing their parental tie to an era unique in its violence and insanity, and to the generation who recovered from the insanity in the world and continued to develop and keep the ideals on which America was founded.

My father was a teenager of 19 when he left his family's farm and entered the army, ultimately ending up in Europe with the 7th Armored division as it pushed across France into Germany. He was a G.I. like many, on the front lines, wounded twice, decorated, and returned home a changed man, so my mother said. I never heard him talk of any of his War experiences. It was not something that many of his generation would share with anyone who had not been there. He died at 68, rather young I think! He would have been 82 last month.

Recently someone I work with told me through tears that her father had just died at 85 years of age. She wondered if I could write something for her for the memorial service. Thinking of my father, I told her that he had led a full life to reach 85. I asked her to take a few minutes and write something about him that best described him as her father. What did he do in life and what were her best memories of him?

She gave me her thoughts, and as I read them, she described an experience similar to my father's and, for that matter, all father's who were part of that generation who fought in WWII.

Her father had flown with the Flying Tigers in Burma and China. He made it through the war, came home, got a job, married, and had 5 children who he loaded in the car and took to the beach in Florida on vacation every year. To keep them occupied in the car, he substituted funny lyrics to popular songs and gave each of the 5 children their own verse to sing as they traveled the road south to Florida.

His life's story could be written with a blank for the name that could be filled in with the name of the father of many children born of that great generation. As I wrote a poem in his memory, tears came to my eyes. It was also a poem to the memory of my father who died 14 years ago.


To the memory of a father in the
"Greatest Generation"


Our Hero!


A life lived,
An epitome,
Of the "greatest generation".

When a youth,
Under fire,
Flew tigers, to save the world.

An experience,
Never shared,
With those who were not there.

A hero,
Among many,
Returned home to forget sadness.

To move on to tomorrow.



Elation!
Optimism!
Hard Work!
Goodness!
Love!
Faith!
Family!



Our Hero!


A life lived,
For others,
His family and friends.

So much to give,
Whose gifts,
Were never exchanged.

His universe,
A bright star,
with five twinkles from his eye.

Who grew,
To be stars,
In their own right.


To shine bright in his heaven!


Our hero!


Has gone on to tomorrow!


Mark Worden
February 17, 2005