We sat around our dining room table and I listened in amazement at my parents’ stories. The year was 1999 and I had taken my parents many photos and produced an old fashioned slide show for one of their anniversaries. Now, I wanted to hear the stories behind those photographs. I pointed my video camera at the screen as each black and white photo appeared. A carefully placed microphone in the center of the dining room table picked up the running commentary from my mother, father, and my brother as they related their memories.

We passed through photographs from the 1920’s and the 1930’s and arrived at the beginning of the 1940’s. It was at this point, the comments became more serious. My father and mother moved from the tiny country town of Saline, Louisiana to the big, bustling town of Shreveport in 1941. They rented a house “on Buckner Street” with many bedrooms. My father went to work for the post office. My mother worked now and then, children’s needs permitting, at the downtown Sears & Roebuck department store.

Then, December 7, 1941 happened. The world turned upside down and changed forever. What became known as World War II began. My father was slated to be drafted in June, 1942 but a bill by Congress passed restricting the upper age limit for draftees and my father was too old to be drafted. Just thirty days from deployment. And it helped he was a federal employee at an important government entity, the post office.

My many uncles were not so fortunate. Those men whose experiences in life were mainly spent behind the swaying backend of a plowing mule suddenly found themselves sent far away to Europe or to the Pacific. The wives, mothers, and children ended up coming to “the house on Buckner Street” as the war waged on. Sisters would move in to a room at my parents’ house until they found a job and moved into an apartment. My father enclosed the back porch and made two additional bedrooms for more migrant relatives.

The colorful and at times, painful stories all came out at that dining room table. Stories of hardship and sacrifice. Stories of lost loves and missing relatives. Stories of the grit and resolve of “the Greatest Generation”.

These men and women lived through the harsh times of the Great Depression which prepared them for the necessary sacrifices of the years ahead as the world plunged into war. They were ready, prepared having learned how to use everything in the pig but “the oink”. A generation of true patriots who loved God and loved freedom and loved their country.

We will not see their like again, I fear. But they were there when this country needed them.

On this day, December 7th, Pearl Harbor Day I salute my parents’ generation for most of them have gone on to their eternal reward. And they have left us with haunting memories and fading photographs and a legacy we can only begin to appreciate.

That session at the dining room table inspired me to write a play, “The Homecoming Tree” produced in 2005. In 2016, I released my novelization of that play and it is available to purchase at all book sites. I never imagined that simple hour spent around the dining room table would lead to a book that some of my readers say they re-read every Christmas.

Here’s to Lena and Slayton Hennigan and the example they set for me and my generation and generations to come. I love you and miss you. Thank you for your quiet, constant example of hard work, sacrifice, and unconditional love.