From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner by Randall Jarrell.
I send Veterans Day greetings to my Uncle Harry, who won the bronze star in the Pacific in 1944, and my brother Jack, who won a medal in Beirut in 1982. I salute the memory of the following men who performed heroic deeds sixty-five years ago, my Dad (Peleliu), Uncle Bill (Manila), Uncle Bob (the Mediterranean) and my friend's father Sig (the Bulge). I love them all.
Well, my son Danny Lamberton didn't show up for lunch today at the Lost Dog Cafe like I had invited him to, so I phoned a friend and had a perfectly wonderful lunch with her instead. Life marches on. I'm sorry for my now-adult son, whom I haven't seen for years, who had his father stripped away from him when he was a minor by the pernicious process of PAS.
The Thanksgiving holiday is next, Dan. Call me before the 26th if you'd like to have Thanksgiving dinner with me. We can catch up on the last eight years, you know? I'll tell you all the Lamberton family news, because there's not a single Lamberton who has heard from you in over six years (another classic hallmark of Parental Alienation Syndrome).