| A Girl on the Home Front
On December 7, 1941, I was a two-and-a-half-year-old girl living in Seattle, Washington. That day my mother and father got very upset. Everyone in the neighborhood was rushing around talking, listening to the radio all day. My brother and I were too young to understand what had happened: the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor, and now America was at war. My mother had two cousins at Pearl Harbor. This was way before the days of CNN. Now you can see wars as they happen, and get instant reports about casualties. It took quite a while for my mother to learn both her cousins had been killed. For America, the war had just begun. But my family had already been tragically touched by it. Maybe that's why I remember the war years and early years of my life so vividly . We had a stake in it, a reason to help out on the Home Front. Everyone was patriotic back then. But when you lost someone in World War II, you felt even more a part of America. You wanted to do all you could to honor your loved ones' sacrifice. I was so young, I was more excited than upset about all the war news. But I did know things were serious and scary. We lived close to Seattle, which became one of America's biggest booming war towns. The Boeing plant there made thousands of planes for the military. My aunt worked there during the war. With so many boys overseas, all kinds of opportunities opened up to women. They wanted to do their part, too. During the war the Boeing plant was covered with camouflage netting, in case Japanese carrier-based planes attacked. For a long time, we thought Pearl Harbor might be repeated in our towns, on our streets. Since we lived near the Pacific ocean, we followed the Pacific war against the Japanese. We didn't pay as much attention to the war in Europe. Also, being near the sea, it was natural for boys in our town to join the Navy. All of my uncles served in the war on Navy ships. At the beginning of the war, freshly formed military units would march through our town, going off to war. My parents would dress me and my brother up in sailor suits, and we'd rush out to see the parade and salute the servicemen. The same thing happened when the war finally ended, and the boys who had survived marched home again. For four years, World War II took over my town, my home, my family life. It was the biggest part of our lives. We listened to the radio each day to hear the latest news. We did scrap drives and rubber drives, pulling wagons with other kids to do our part for the war. We had ration books, ration coupons. Everyone pulled together, volunteered, and helped each other out. The war was a terrible thing, but it was a great time to be an American. You felt so much pride, like you were part of something great and good and important. The happiest day of the whole war came in August 1945, when my family gathered around the radio to hear President Truman's speech about the Japanese surrender. The war was over at last. Soon the boys would be coming home. Peace had returned after so many years. Every light blazed that night, and it seemed like the whole town was one big party. Today, kids play video games and stare at computers and get chauffeured around to soccer matches and the local mall. Few understand sacrifice, or anything that's larger and more important than their own little lives. Perhaps that's for the best. A war is a terrible way to learn a lesson about life. Still, I wonder sometimes what would happen if today's generation had to confront what ours did in 1941. I bet things wouldn't be so different. I bet the whole country would pull together again, just like then. That may be an old-fashioned way of looking at things. But if you grew up on the Home Front in World War II, you're bound to feel hopeful about America. And you're always proud to be part of it. |
