THOSE WHO SERVED

After reviewing my last few blogs I realized it might be time for a vitriol change and maybe temporarily get rid of my old f--- rampages.

One pleasant memory I have of the past was about those who served.

It was WW II and we resided in Pittsburgh. Those male adults who were disqualified for service due to age, family obligations or health complications found other ways to contribute. One such job was that of Air Raid Warden, a position for which my dad actively campaigned and was rewarded with his white pith helmet - marked with the triangular air raid designation.

He was also the proud bearer of a flashlight whose lens was painted with Mom's dark red nail polish except for a tiny pinhole in the center providing a sliver of light so he could patrol our narrow streets and protect all the women and children from those devils from overseas.

He left two young sons, a wife, and a baby behind as he made his rounds.

We were all located under the oversized heavy wooden diningroom table that had Popeye like arms for table legs. We were not allowed to move from our safe house until we heard the all clear siren coming from the borough building.

It was at this time that one of us fled our protective zone and sought the Philco radio for any sign we could still listen to The Lone Ranger on the Mutual Radio network.

It was not easy being the son of an Air raid warden. God bless us if we had been foolish enough to leave the air raid flashlight in the backyard shack the night before the air raid. We would surely feel Dad's wrath.

Our home, like that of our neighbors, was camaflouged by the absence of lights, and on occasion, had towels or a heavy blanket strung across the top of curtain rods to conceal any unusual light source.

While we waited in our makeshift cave, Dad and the others had the responsibility to identify any home or business where the residents had failed to quench all the lights during the air raid

We were never advised of the punishment meted out to the wrongdoers. We assumed that was 'secret squirrel stuff' and silently went on our way, grateful that our family had not been identified as the ones commiting such an elitist or careless act.

We were glad we weren't attacked but more than that, we were proud of our Dad, the Air Raid Warden - he who proudly served.