My dad was an illegal immigrant.
He came over from Canada with his family, and he arrived in the USA when he was 7 years old, and it was right at the time before the Great Depression, and he went to work at an ice-cream shop when he was 10 years old, once the Great Depression hit.
He was from Quebec, and he couldn't speak English, but he, and his family, learned real quick.
My mother was from German immigrants, and my grandparents entered legally and after Ellis Island, they ended up in Pennsylvania.
This is back when Hitler wasn't known yet, but my maternal grandparents put up with a lot of Americans throwing stones at them and making their lives miserable.
They found an area in Michigan, Cass City, which were all German immigrants, and farmers, and that's where my mom was born.
My grandparents came over thinking that they could make it big here, and then they'd go back to the 'Old Country' rich.
My dad's family was friends with a family in Cass City, and that's how my mother met my father.
My mother was 19 years old when she married my dad, and he was 22, and my French father's family really hated my mom, because she was German, and the war was just beginning.
My parents lived with his parents, and they spoke French, and my mom wasn't comfortable with that, because she knew that they were talking about her.
My dad worked and helped support his family and when his parents complained to him that my mother was listening to the radio, my father told them that he was paying the bills and if my mom wanted to listen to the radio, to leave her alone, because she wasn't hurting anything and he was paying the bills.
It was when my father's youngest brother was able to work, that my parents were able to move.
They didn't need to take care of my father's family anymore.
I grew up hearing about the Great Depression, and my dad always telling my mom that she was lucky, since she grew up on a farm, and they always had food.
My parents were just out of the house and building a home, when Pearl Harbor was bombed.
My mother was pregnant when my father joined the Navy.
My father never talked about the war.
But he had a bullet wound on his arm, and scars on his face, and worse, scars on his soul.
He had a purple heart medal and a silver star, yet he never talked about it.
They'd bring it up occasionally, my mom and dad, but they'd make light of it and laugh.
I regret more than anything, for being too young and not understanding at all, I regret so much that I never asked my dad about what he experienced in war.
I regret that I never asked my mother how she dealt with it.
Most of all, I regret that I never thanked my mom and dad for everything that they did for me.
This is a tribute to my father.
He served in the Navy during World War II.
I love you, daddy, and I miss you,
Thank you for being my father, and thank you for serving our country.
