The Navy had invited parents and friends of the Esperance’s sailors to attend the ship’s commissioning. Many of my friends waved to people they recognized and looked forward to talking with after the ceremony.
“See anybody you know, Jim?” I asked my buddy.
“Naw,” he answered. “My folks are already plowing, getting ready to plant corn.”
I didn’t bother searching for familiar faces, but took advantage of the offered refreshments. Not only was I ignorant of the commissioning ceremony taking place, even had I known in advance, I also knew that Dad struggled twelve hours a day with his business and couldn’t take time off, while Mom babysat and did nursing. She had been dead-set against Dad signing the documents that permitted me to drop out of high school and join the Navy at seventeen years of age, so it’s not like she would’ve wanted to attend the ceremony either.
Standing at “parade rest”, we sailors suffered through a dreary reading of the list of our ship’s officers. Our captain, Robert W. Backius, and Commander McDonald delivered lackluster speeches on the subject “Esperance action.” The time for refreshments and mingling with guests provided a welcome respite.
“Hey, Schlener, there’s ol’ Stanley lugging a big black case,” Jim said, pointing out our friend. “They probably stuck him in the Third Division.”
“Well, if it ain’t Mr. Colorado himself,” I exclaimed, thumping Stanley on the back. “Man, I thought you were AWOL and skeedadled back to Pike’s Peak when you heard we were shipping out.”
“Not this swab jockey!” Stanley retorted. “I’m in for the whole hog or nuthin.”
“What ya got in that suitcase? Looks out of place among all these sea bags,” Jim said.
Stanley explained, “It’s my squeeze box; my wrinkle machine. They said I could bring it on board.”
“That’s fantastic,” I yelped. “We can hold jam sessions if you’ll let me beat on the case with my drum sti—“
I never finished my sentence. Standing not ten feet away from me was my mom, listening and smiling. I swept her into a hug before introducing her to my buddies.
“How on earth did you get here, Mom? I had no idea! I didn’t even know invitations were sent out.” I peppered Mom with comments and questions, careful with my language. I’d had my mouth swabbed out with soap as a kid, and badly needed another treatment now, if Mom only knew!
She said, “I just finished taking care of an invalid lady and was able to buy a round-trip bus ticket for the commissioning. I just had to see my sailor boy once more before he went to sea!”
Mom was away from home a lot when she babysat or nursed ailing folk. I thought of Dad’s extended work schedule, sometimes twelve hours straight, and often without a cook when Mom was trying to make ends meet during the Depression. Dad wasn’t grief-stricken when Mom was away for a while. Although he missed her caresses, cooking, washing, and ironing, he took great pleasure in gutting the refrigerator, throwing away leftovers that had sprouted hairy mold.
Our time together on the ship passed too quickly. When Mom and I said our goodbyes, she held on tightly, as if afraid to let go. She thrust a small package into my hands. In a quavering voice, she said, “Dad and I want you to take this Bible with you to sea. We’ll be praying for you, Little Brother,” she called me by my nickname. “Be careful, won’t you?”
Both of us were too choked with emotion to speak, and then she was gone. Memories of childhood and adolescence flooded my mind as I watched Mom disappear from view, down the gangplank.
No comments:
Post a Comment