God has a way of impressing character building blocks into every episode in life, if we only listen, or, perhaps, survive to remember. Just a thought.
My poem 'Night Flight' caused my brain to address, to some degree, a part of my childhood, that became a major part of me. I left a whole lot of happenings out, but even then at three, so many factors of man's life, was driven home in me.
Three Year Olds War
By Arley Steinhour 012111
Shortly after turning three, it was Sunday, cold, crisp, and bright,
Cold cereal, dress in our best, off to Church with heart so light.
I can't say I remember, one thing about Church, that fateful day,
I was so glad it was done, and homeward bound, to hear the Radio play.
Grandma would fix us up some lunch, as we listened to a story,
Sometimes even Praising songs, with story to His Glory.
This day proved just a tad bit weird, as some guy broke in to say,
Some place called Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, had been bombed today.
All I knew was the program, didn't come back at all that day,
The grown-ups pushed us kids aside, and said, 'go out and play.'
I had turned an ancient three, almost two months before,
And wanted to know why women cried, and Grandpa slammed the door.
Neighbors came a running, after Grandma hollered for them to come,
I don't know how many grown-ups came in, at three counting has no sum.
I just knew that something very big, had changed my life that day,
But for some reason, I knew full well, I didn't want to go out and play.
Life for me became a blur, for weeks, or months, I'd have to say,
As all the country changed their lives to be wrapped in War that day.
The call went out, for anything, made of metal that could be used,
Sis, and I, we did our part at the dump, collecting cans bent and bruised.
With gunny bag, tight in my hand, the dump ground was mine for work and play,
Many hours crawling around, picking up things they said would save the day.
The war, for me, was so much fun, I didn't really understand,
Playing in the once forbidden dump, holding treasure in my hand.
Everything, went to the war, even nifty half used toys,
Some toys earned a week reprieve, if it were made for boys.
Grandpa started building cabins, in the big back yard,
The new Army Air Base was being built to teach men fast and hard.
Some how, some way my Grandpa found, enough quality to keep his pride,
To fix a place for the families, for that time, before they fought and died.
He let me help, I had two jobs, finding, and straightening nails,
Straightening hurt the fingers, but nails were needed by the pails.
I sometimes think that war ruined me, I still can't stand to throw away,
Anything that might have some use, or value left, for another day.
One big, small story, about a World War, big, small boy,
Who learned early on, how to make a piece of junk, a toy.
Depression mind-set, with War-time work-set, to keep our Nation free,
Helped to make that little three to seven year old, a one and only, me.
War locks deep inside the heart, events full of memory, hard to erase,
Especially for a three year old, be it war scar, or God's Saving Grace.