The times we’re living in …

It’s almost April. My Dad’s birthday was April 5 and, if he were still alive, he would be one hundred years old this year. Now here’s the thing, a couple of years ago, on Pearl Harbor Day, I made a post on Instagram and Facebook about my Dad being a Pearl Harbor Survivor. I had relatives respond with variations on the theme, “gee I wish I had heard his story about that day.” Since I did hear his story, I wrote a speech about that day titled “Pearl Harbor a Secondhand Memory”. I not only used the story Dad had told me, but I talked to my Mom, my sister, and my two younger brothers for their versions of Dad’s story. I also did some research about his ship, the USS Hulbert.

It was one of my best-received speeches. I even used it as a target speech for the District 39 Speech Evaluation Contest one year. It made a woman in the audience cry. I was and am proud of that speech.

My mom loved the speech and wanted me to share it with my siblings. This year, I thought I would record the speech and post it online for my family and friends. I know a lot of them would want to hear Dad’s story.

And then I thought again.

What a wildly inappropriate time in history for me to tell that particular story, don’t ya think? With violence against Asians of all nationalities on an upswing it would be incredibly tone-deaf of me to put a story about the attack on Peal Harbor out front and center in my little social media feed.

I am grateful I caught myself in time. Grateful that I didn’t post something that had potential to contribute to the ill feelings swirling around because of Covid. Feelings, I might add that were exacerbated by our former president and many other politicians. I am certain my self-censorship is the right thing to do at this moment in time.

I do think I will make the story available to some family and friends in a private way, but I have to wonder, will there ever be a right time for me to tell Dad’s story to the world at large? It may be that that window has closed. As proud as I am of w my Dad was, it just might be time to let his past remain in the past.