Dec 7. It's not my fault.

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 Grandma Vi and my Dad.

December 7th was a big deal in my family.  For several years we lived in the shadow of the U.S.S. Arizona Memorial.  It was visible from my bedroom window and we could hear the creaks and groans and the oil bubbles all night long.  We lived in a part of the old WWII mess hall, the walls were thin.  Some time after we moved in my parents watched the movie Tora! Tora! Tora!,  I think I would have been about 5 years old.  The movie dramatizes the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese Navy on December 7, 1941 and it was filmed in part on Ford Island.  Our house is visible in several shots. It was a horrific defeat for the Pacific Fleet and it left scars all over the island.  In 1971 there were still bullet holes in buildings and always visible the sunken hulk of the U.S.S. Arizona with it's final cargo of 1,177 dead.   Four other battleships sank that day, and three others were gravely damaged. Countless military personnel died or were injured.  The civilian casualties were staggering.  What the families of Ford Island endured is unimaginable to me now. ( you can read about some of this here ) But it was the Arizona that haunted me.  For years, even as I played happily with my Japanese friends, I was terrified that the Japanese bombers would come back.  At night when the planes came into Luke Field I would peek out my window looking for the telltale Rising Sun on the Japanese planes. I would imagine hearing them fly low over the water and strafe the island with bullets.  Over at the airstrip you could still see the lines in the turf, overgrown but still visibly different.  I also have lots and lots of really wonderful memories of living on the Island.  It really was a paradise, but a paradise with a dark soul. I have not seen the movie Tora! Tora! Tora! since that night that is was on the T.V. in our Ford Island living room.  I don't believe I can ever watch it again.

The U.S.S Arizona Memorial, our house is just out of the frame on the left.

My Paternal Grandma was named Vi.  she was born on Dec 7th  1920 an spent much of her adult life  apologizing for her birthday.  She would always qualify any mention of the date with "It wasn't my fault"  Silly maybe, but a heartfelt acknowledgment of a terrible, terrible day. 

Fast forward to 2004.  Doodle is trying to be born, first on the 7th, then the 8th...the 9th?  Still no.  September 10th?  It was still looking doubtful, although by this time I had been in active labor for three days and we were both looking pretty sick.  Something had to be done and soon. All that day I felt like my Grandma Vi was looking out for me.  I kept thinking he has to be born today.  I can't do this for two more days and I don't want his birthday to be September 11.  I didn't want him to share his birthday with the anniversary of such a horrific day.  Someday he may live in the shadow of that memorial.  As it happened, a heroic new old school OB came on shift at 5:00pm and said, "Lets get this baby born today".  And so he was.  I think we all carry the burden of tragedies big and small everyday.  I am glad that for him at least, he doesn't have to carry this one on his birth certificate too.