The Things We Don't Know

Today, I went to the funeral of my dearest childhood friend's father. He was ninety years old and lived a good, honest, faithful life. My memories of him go back as far as memories go, and I could have told you much about him. I could have described his humor and some of his little idiosyncrasies. Like the fact that he started running for his health way back when nobody ran unless someone was chasing them.

I could have told you he was kind. And gentle. My mother reminded me he often came into the house from his farm chores just to sit for a little while and watch us play with our dolls. I could have told you lots of details. But today I learned something I'd never known. He was a hero.

Well, I knew he was a hero the way all fathers are heroes to their little girls (and to their little girls' friends). I didn't know that among other things, he earned seven bronze stars during battles in World War II. Seven. That is a lot of stars for one young man from a small farm in Missouri. When that information was read in the obituary today, I felt a swell of pride. I was proud to have known a man with that kind of valor. Proud to have sat at his kitchen table, to have slept under his roof, and to have played in his yard.

So, tonight, when I heard the latest war reports on the national news and considered the state of our troubled nation. I thought about Kermit Bane. And I wished I could see him one more time just to tell him, "I'm proud I knew you."