I remember the day I fell in love with my daddy.  I was about 10 years old.  He put a 33 on the Hi-Fi he bought in Japan and danced a jitterbug with my mom as my sister, brothers and I laughed and giggled.  He danced with my sister and when it was my turn he told me to stand on top of his feet.  As he led me around the room I fell utterly in love with the strongest and happiest man I knew.

My dad was a poor little barefoot boy from Alabama who had to pick cotton to earn money for shoes.  He was afraid of the dark when he was little and so was pampered as the youngest of 11 children.  As a man, he stood tall at 5’6” so his family called him ‘Peanut’.  People loved to be around him because he was such a happy, bubbly person.  We would beg him to sing saying, “Oh daddy, you sound just like Bing Crosby”.  What I wouldn’t give to hear him sing about that old buttermilk sky one more time.  He loved Chet Atkins and considered the Beatles’ haircuts an abomination.  He loved cartoons like Foghorn Leghorn and Wiley Coyote.  His favorite TV show was “Gomer Pyle” because Gomer was a poor country boy who enlisted in the Marine Corps and did his job to the best of his ability.  He periodically conducted inspections of our dresser drawers and clothes closets and if they weren’t up to specs, believe me, they would be by the end of the day.

He enlisted in the Marine Corps on July 25, 1945 when he was 18.  He went to boot camp at Parris Island, SC, then through enlisted rank and on to night school and Officers’ Candidate School.  He was the only person in his family to obtain a college degree.  He had to work with a math tutor to get through school.  My mother was pushing me in a stroller the day my father soloed in Pensacola, Florida.  The other pilots called him ‘granddad’ because he was so much older than they.

Before going overseas, my dad had to have a good fitness report so he came home every night and ran for miles.  He would collapse on the living room floor and all four of us, ages 3 to 13, rubbed and massaged his legs, arms and back.  We loved him with all the strength we had.

He was killed on July 25, 1966 in an aircraft accident at Da Nang airbase.  I said earlier that he enlisted on July 25, 1945.  He died exactly 21 years to the day after he enlisted.  I was deeply distressed to learn that he did not die immediately.  A soldier testified that he could hear Major Andrews moaning and that they did not have the proper equipment to cut through the wreckage.

In the few days that we have been here in Viet Nam, I have come to the conclusion that this stunningly beautiful country was worth fighting for and the warm, friendly, and gracious Vietnamese people were worth dying for.  After years of trying to push the grief away, I finally accepted that it will never be all right that I lost my daddy.  And today, it is all right with me that it will never be all right.

As each of you before me has shared your grief and your loss, I wailed into God’s universe with you.  When my wail felt and touched your wail of sorrow, my burden lifted bit by bit.  Thank you for helping me.  To those of you who did not know your fathers, you were and would have been the apple of his eye.  To all the veterans and support persons who have been here for us, there are no words to describe the gratitude I feel.  Thank you for serving your country alongside my father.

Miracles have been with us as exactly the right person has been in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.  Dick Stoops, our team leader veteran, was there cutting chunks of sugar cane on the bus and passing them out.  The last person to cut and hand me a piece of sugar cane, was my father.  Gene Fields, a son, talked about his friend back home named Gomer.  That brought back forgotten memories of the time spent in front of the TV laughing with my dad as we watched the Gomer Pyle show.  Our squad leader veteran, Chuck Gregoire, tells me he has a 6’ tall brother nicknamed ‘Peanut’.

Since my father supported an orphanage on China Beach, I would like to give the gifts I brought to an orphanage in the vicinity.   Once, when my father heard my brother say he hated someone he’d had a fight with, my father said, “I don’t think you want to hate anyone son.  It doesn’t solve anything.  It’s better to talk these things out with each other.  Try never to hate”.

Father John, if you would please lead us in prayer.  Since you are a Marine, I am most positive that my father would forgive you for being Catholic.  [Prayer]

For those who would like to, please join me in singing "Amazing Grace".

I miss you daddy