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I always forget he was a veteran - in fact, I never knew it until the day of his funeral, when a military officer presented a carefully folded flag to my aunt (his sister), almost eight years ago. He was the second youngest of seven, five years older than my dad, the only one who never married and never had children. He was very smart but never went to college - grampa, who never really like him, refused to send him. (Dad, grampa's favorite, was the one to go.) He worked all his life, I think, as a hospital orderly and didn't like volunteers because in his experience they took paying jobs away from people. He was very knowledgeable about glassware and wrote a few columns for some collectors' magazines. His poems and essays, which I got to read after the funeral, were well-written and heartfelt. He loved his family, writing down many memories and bought his nieces great jewelry from flea market and antique shops for Christmas. He was funny and interesting, sometimes cantankerous, and I enjoyed spending time with him.
He was gay - I guess one could say it was an open secret. Everyone in the family knew and at least one of his lovers came to many family functions over the years (as his "roommate" - but everyone over a certain age knew what that meant) and signed birthday and Christmas cards along with my uncle. We didn't really talk about it - there was nothing to talk about, that's just how things were. We all figure grampa never knew his least favorite son was gay - except that he probably did know and couldn't acknowledge it to himself and it probably played a large role in why he disliked his own son so much. (Grampa was a difficult man - he was always good to me and I never saw a bad side to him - but then I was only 10 when he died. He could be kind but he had a cruel streak. People are strange. I think that's the only characteristic that's consistent about all human beings - people are strange, too complicated to really figure out.)
After the funeral, dad told me about Uncle Lee's service in the Air Force. His military career was very short, less than a year. In 1957, he joined the Air Force to become a cook. Except one weekend, while he was on leave, he was caught engaged in homosexual activities - actually, I think, he was caught in a gay bar - and he was dishonorably discharged. He had to pay a fine - had to ask my grampa for the money, telling him a plausible lie about why he'd been discharged - and returned home in disgrace. He had nowhere to live and most of his siblings wanted nothing to do with him at the time - except for my Aunt Lizzie. She took him in and he lived with her and her husband and two sons while he got on his feet.
I found out that this was actually how a family tradition started - spending New Year's at my aunt's house. It began when Uncle Lee had nowhere to go for the holiday that year so he spent it, along with my dad (their mom died when dad was 16 and he lived with my aunt for awhile), at my aunt's house. The tradition continued for years, long after the rest of the family came to accept my uncle. Eventually, all the cousins were involved and there was a big Christmas dinner and gift-exchange but at first and for many years, it was just my family, Aunt Liz and her family, and Uncle Lee. Even though the tradition has died out as cousins have gotten married and had their own kids and grandkids, I still like to go there for New Year's when I'm close enough to get there. That's where I learn about my family, who we are, where we came from, all the great family stories that need to be told over and over again so each successive generation knows them. That's where I remember (as if I could really forget) how much I love them - and how much I'll miss them when they're gone, as too many of them now are.
I never, though, learned that Uncle Lee was a veteran in all those times I sat in that house, listening to family stories. No one talked about it. I imagine - I hope - the rest of the family was ashamed of how they treated him when he was discharged. (Maybe that's too harsh when things are put into cultural and historical context.) And what about that flag at the funeral? Dishonorably discharged vets don't get military honors when they die. Even dad was surprised. It turns out that when he was discharged, my uncle agreed to go through psychiatric treatment for his "condition" and in exchange the Air Force converted his discharge into - I forget what it's called. Not a regular honorable discharge, but something other than dishonorable, something that allowed his record not to have that "dishonorable" mark on it and for him to receive a flag at his funeral.
He was going to be a cook. He wanted to serve his country. He got a little careless one weekend - on his own time - and someone found out he liked men, so they kicked him out of the Air Force. To what purpose? How did ensuring that all their cooks liked the opposite sex help the Air Force be better? How did getting rid of a good man, sending him home disgraced and humiliated, help them? What a waste of money and manpower. What a dishonorable thing to do to a good man. What a shame.
So I usually forget he was a veteran, not because it wasn't important, but because for so many years I never knew. Thanks to Uncle Lee for his service as well. I won't be forgetting again.
He was gay - I guess one could say it was an open secret. Everyone in the family knew and at least one of his lovers came to many family functions over the years (as his "roommate" - but everyone over a certain age knew what that meant) and signed birthday and Christmas cards along with my uncle. We didn't really talk about it - there was nothing to talk about, that's just how things were. We all figure grampa never knew his least favorite son was gay - except that he probably did know and couldn't acknowledge it to himself and it probably played a large role in why he disliked his own son so much. (Grampa was a difficult man - he was always good to me and I never saw a bad side to him - but then I was only 10 when he died. He could be kind but he had a cruel streak. People are strange. I think that's the only characteristic that's consistent about all human beings - people are strange, too complicated to really figure out.)
After the funeral, dad told me about Uncle Lee's service in the Air Force. His military career was very short, less than a year. In 1957, he joined the Air Force to become a cook. Except one weekend, while he was on leave, he was caught engaged in homosexual activities - actually, I think, he was caught in a gay bar - and he was dishonorably discharged. He had to pay a fine - had to ask my grampa for the money, telling him a plausible lie about why he'd been discharged - and returned home in disgrace. He had nowhere to live and most of his siblings wanted nothing to do with him at the time - except for my Aunt Lizzie. She took him in and he lived with her and her husband and two sons while he got on his feet.
I found out that this was actually how a family tradition started - spending New Year's at my aunt's house. It began when Uncle Lee had nowhere to go for the holiday that year so he spent it, along with my dad (their mom died when dad was 16 and he lived with my aunt for awhile), at my aunt's house. The tradition continued for years, long after the rest of the family came to accept my uncle. Eventually, all the cousins were involved and there was a big Christmas dinner and gift-exchange but at first and for many years, it was just my family, Aunt Liz and her family, and Uncle Lee. Even though the tradition has died out as cousins have gotten married and had their own kids and grandkids, I still like to go there for New Year's when I'm close enough to get there. That's where I learn about my family, who we are, where we came from, all the great family stories that need to be told over and over again so each successive generation knows them. That's where I remember (as if I could really forget) how much I love them - and how much I'll miss them when they're gone, as too many of them now are.
I never, though, learned that Uncle Lee was a veteran in all those times I sat in that house, listening to family stories. No one talked about it. I imagine - I hope - the rest of the family was ashamed of how they treated him when he was discharged. (Maybe that's too harsh when things are put into cultural and historical context.) And what about that flag at the funeral? Dishonorably discharged vets don't get military honors when they die. Even dad was surprised. It turns out that when he was discharged, my uncle agreed to go through psychiatric treatment for his "condition" and in exchange the Air Force converted his discharge into - I forget what it's called. Not a regular honorable discharge, but something other than dishonorable, something that allowed his record not to have that "dishonorable" mark on it and for him to receive a flag at his funeral.
He was going to be a cook. He wanted to serve his country. He got a little careless one weekend - on his own time - and someone found out he liked men, so they kicked him out of the Air Force. To what purpose? How did ensuring that all their cooks liked the opposite sex help the Air Force be better? How did getting rid of a good man, sending him home disgraced and humiliated, help them? What a waste of money and manpower. What a dishonorable thing to do to a good man. What a shame.
So I usually forget he was a veteran, not because it wasn't important, but because for so many years I never knew. Thanks to Uncle Lee for his service as well. I won't be forgetting again.