Ship to Shore

At last my diet soda addiction finally paid off.

Every year around this time I vow to rid myself of these vile sugarless soft drinks that have been polluting my body since the Jimmy Carter Administration.

This year will be no exception, of course, but on Saturday, my weakness for caramel-colored chemicals actually had an upside for once.

I was at a local supermarket picking up some diet ice tea, which unfortunately for me, was on sale for a ridiculously low price.

The place wasn’t particularly crowded, but I sensed that it was all aglow with holiday excitement. Or maybe that was the caffeine withdrawal talking.

Anyway, I was online all set to checkout when I realized I hadn’t picked up an extra bottle of Diet Coke.

I loathe counter shoppers—these losers who dump their goods in front of the cashier and continue their buying spree- (I tell ya, there oughta a law!)—so I abandoned my spot on the line, dashed over to the soda aisle and bounced back with my prize hoping to reclaim my spot.

However, this older gentleman stepped up in front of with two cartons of eggs in his hands. All right, I figured, he doesn’t have much. I’ll be out of here in no time.

As I waited, I noticed that this man was wearing what appeared to be a veteran’s cap. When he turned I caught sight of “World War II” stitched into his cap and realized he was a veteran—just like my father.

I wanted to talk to him, but I felt a little awkward. I didn’t want to bother the guy. He’s just buying some eggs and minding his own business. Perhaps I should do the same—minus the eggs.

But several years ago, I saw a WWII veteran and his wife while riding the subway and I regretted not speaking to him. I decided to talk to this man at the counter. The worst that could happen is that I’d get pelted with eggs.

“You fought in World War II?” I asked.

Atlantic Crossing

No response. Apparently, he didn’t hear me. So, while Frank Sinatra sang over the sound system about chestnuts roasting on an open fire, I waited until the gentleman turned my way.

“You fought in World War II?” I repeated.

“Yes, I did.”

“My Dad served in the army,” I said. “In Europe. What about you?”

“I was in the Navy—on a troop ship going back and forth.”

“Well, thank you for your service,” I said.

Troop ships carried thousands of soldiers-like my father-to and from the United States, Europe, Great Britain, Africa, Asia and Australia.

My dad was a legendary pain in the ass on the way over to Europe and he proudly told me that his fellow soldiers got so fed up with his shipboard shenanigans that they dragged his mattress up from down below and threw it out on the deck.

It’s a wonder he made it to the war alive.

“I just made 92,” the old sailor said.

I wasn’t sure what he was saying at first, but then I realized he was telling me his age.

“Well, God bless you,” I said.

So, this man was born in 1926, the year that Houdini died, Hirohito was crowned emperor of Japan, and the short-lived Treaty of Berlin, where Germany and the Soviet Union agreed to stay neutral if one was attacked by any third party, was signed.

It’s amazing to think how the world has changed in that time.

The man paid for his eggs, wished me a happy holiday and went on his way. I’m glad I decided to speak with him and I’m so happy that there are still a few of these old timers still around. They did so much for this country, but their sacrifice is being forgotten.

In a week or so I’ll make another attempt at kicking the diet drink habit. I know that stuff is all kinds of bad for me, but it’s almost worth the internal abuse if it gives me a chance to meet a real live hero.