Every summer, our family used to rent a cottage for a week at Wasaga Beach in Ontario, where Dad, a strong man who loved the water, used to let my sisters and me lie on his back while he swam. One morning, when I was five or six, we were on the beach in our bathing suits when I noticed that Dad had several scars on his back. I had probably seen them before, but this was the first time I really noticed them.When I asked Mom why they were there, she told me that Dad had been injured in a plane crash during the war. So, of course I went over and asked him, “Dad, were you really in a plane crash?’
“Yeah,” he said, but the word was barely out of his mouth before he jumped back in the water. Even at that age, I could see that he was running away – or in this case, actually swimming away – from my questions.
As the years went on, especially on Memorial Day, when we went to the local cemetery to plant little American flags on the graves of war veterans, I sometimes asked him about the war. Although I desperately wanted to know what happened, I was careful not to push too hard. It was clear that he didn’t want to talk about it, and I imagined that I might feel the same way if something that terrible happened to me. Every time I asked about the war, he would parcel out another detail or two. One year he said, “Everybody did their job, and I did mine. I was a parachute rigger.” Another time, referring to the crash, he said, “It was a foggy day, really bad weather.”
When I was in high school, the two of us were in the basement one day when Dad walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a manila folder. He handed me a yellowed clipping for the October 24, 1944, edition of the Southport Weekly, an English newspaper. The headline read US BOMBER CRASHES IN FLAMES AT AINSDALE, and the article described the crash of a B-24 Liberator at an air base in England. I read it quickly and zeroed in on the key lines: “The plane, which had been circling around as though preparatory to landing…somersaulting into a field, immediately bursting into flames. When the place crashed it broke up, and some of the air men were thrown clear.”
Dad, I realized, had been one of them.
Tim Russert’s worldview is…
1. I seek fame.
2. I seek to know. (100%)
3. I seek to teach.
4. I seek to entertain.
8 comments:
I voted for "I seek to know," Though that answer does seem a little too easily found and I will not be surprised to be shown wrong at a later date.
I love the way he was patient in dragging this information out of his father.
I voted for "I seek to know as well" or I will when the poll is available. Like Annie I love the way he was patient in dragging the information out of his father, but his father was also wise to not share with his son until he was more of the age of understanding.
We will sorely miss Tim Russert
Thanks for notifying me about the polling problem. I read on "Blogger" that other blogs are also having the same problem. When something changes, I will put the poll back up. Thanks so much!
Ditto both above... I seek to know. I would also add, I seek to know and understand as well. Incorporating both processes.
He says, "Although I desperately wanted to know what happened, I was careful not to push too hard." So, seeking to know seems to be foremost in Tim's mind, and that is my vote. But, in a way, he is teaching his Dad that it's OK to talk about it by not pressing him.
"I seek to know" seem most logical to me ... but I've been wrong before!
I cannot imagine the answer being other than "I seek to know". Only reason I have any doubt is because it is too easy. He was the best interviewer I have seen. He always came across as a kind man, even when he really had someone pinned to the deck. He wanted to know and he knew how to find out pretty well.
"I seek to know." is certainly what might be inscribed on this good man's last public copy: his headstone. Please, lass, you keep writing and keep us thinking. Cheers!
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