Our peaceful contemplation following our Hallow’s Eve feast was interrupted. Not, as one would expect, by a knock on the door, but by a forceful bursting in of the door. A black clad figure, masked, except for his eyes, came whirling into the room, swinging frightful blades. He was followed by a black clad figure with wizened white hair and beard – his Sensei, I would imagine. 
Now I understand his refusal to cut his hair!
I recall a Halloween when I was probably 2 or 3 years old. My memory is boosted by the fact that Mom and Dad have pictures. I was a clown. I held my older sister’s hand all night for that sense of security you get from loved ones when you are scared out of your wits. Unfortunately, my sister was a witch, sporting a very ugly and scary rubber mask. Everytime I looked at her, I would cry. But I wouldn’t let go of her hand.
My mom and dad gave my older sister and I the gift of responsibility over our little sisters. I got to do stuff like cut their hair, sew them outfits…not your average run of the mill sibling responsibility tasks. And, of course, we got to design their costumes. I don’t remember them having too much say about it, either. I think the year of crowning glory in the costume department was the year we made my little sister Wendy be a jack-in-the-box. She was dressed appropriately like Jack, and had to pop out of a box. Of course she was 7-8, so it meant that Barbara and I had to heft around this great big box!
Having had the responsibility of costuming not only my sisters as they grew up, but also my own children, I am so happy to be able to enjoy Halloween without the added stress of “The Costume”! My daughter Alena has it easy…they make such great costumes these days, plus she can afford to buy them!! My all time favorite costume that she got for SP was the one when he was 15 days old.
Hope you all have a great spooky eve!
It was something on the news channel. I’m not exactly sure which story it was – something about serving in the military. SP asked if everyone had to serve in the army and go to war. Grandpa and I explained to him that when he turned 18 he would be required to register with the department that was in charge of protecting our country. That is one of the rules of being a US citizen. And the registration meant that if the US needed you to fight for the country, they might have to draw names from those who had registered, and then if your name was drawn, you would be drafted into service. For a kid, sometimes concepts are hard to understand, and sometimes too much information is given.
But it got me thinking. I was sitting in a little restaurant in Anchorage one morning several weeks ago, having breakfast with Dad and Mom. Dad had finished pulling out his chair, found a place to hang his cane, took off his coat and hat. We all sat down to enjoy a meal. At some point during our meal, a gentleman stopped by the table, with his family hoovering in the background. He told Dad that he just wanted to thank him for all he had done. My Dad looked at the man with a little half smile and a question in his eyes. The man told Dad that he had noticed Dad’s hat. It happened to be one that Dad rarely leaves home without – his WWII, Korea, and Vietnam Wars Veteran cap. The gentleman, who himself was no spring chicken, told Dad that he had also served in Vietnam, and he just wanted to thank Dad for serving his country during 3 wars. It made me feel good, so I am sure it made Dad’s day.
I wasn’t born during WWII or the Korean War. I was in 7th grade when Dad was sent to Vietnam. I can remember it as being a very hard year without Dad, both in terms of the terror us four girls had of losing Dad, but also just living without his presence. Mom or us girls mowed the lawn. Mom learned how to drive. Mom will tell you to this day that she only had two quarters to rub together at the end of each month.
It was awesome to get a letter from Dad. He would write to Mom, of course, but he also wrote to each of us girls. I can remember giving a report at school about Vietnam and using the Vietnamese money that Dad had sent me in one of those letters. I can remember watching the Bob Hope Show in the hopes of seeing my Dad in the crowd of soldiers. Of course I didn’t see him, but just the thought of maybe seeing him was a good hope. Mom flew to California to meet Dad when he returned to the states, and I can remember all four of us girls lined up in the living room window, waiting for them to pull into the driveway.
In varying degrees, we are all aware of the sacrifices that our soldiers make for this country. But I think many of us may not realize all of the sacrifices made by families all over these United States; like the concept of the draft for 8 year old SP, it is hard to conceptualize how many lives can be impacted by a soldier’s service.
I’ve heard that our senior citizens at the Father Ishmail Gromoff Senior Center are planning to send holiday packages to our soldiers fighting for our country. Let’s all help them out by donating either money or goodies for the packages.
Unalaska From My Point of View 
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