SUNDAYS WITH HITLER

My birthday is coming up soon and the years seem to be flying by.

I feel blessed to be as healthy as I am; it’s a combination of lucking out with good genes and the fact I realized early on to take care of myself.

I never smoked a cigarette or did any drugs. That was a testament to the fear of God my father instilled in me if he ever found me smoking anything.

My dad passed away from emphysema, and knew early in his life that was probably what was going to kill him. But he was too addicted and he said so, every time he lit one up.

My father always wanted a son as the firstborn; that was always clear to me as a child and I never really knew what to do with that knowledge. I was a tomboy for the first 10 years of my life, but then I learned about the magic of dancing and was transformed. Not into a delicate ballerina (that would come later, although only in my mind) but to a clumsy, but determined tap dancer. I would eventually become a choreographer for the various high schools I attended, and it has become one of the happiest memories of my young life.

One of the other memories stands out for me during that time, is watching t.v. with my father. As the aforementioned yearning for a son began to form in his mind, he urged me to sit with him to watch the television show “Combat” on Tuesdays nights. I could recite every episode by the time I was 14 years old, and the death of Vic Morrow in a movie accident years later created a real sense of loss for us both. The horrific finale to a dedicated life in the service seemed so unfair. The Combat theme song brings a tug to my heart every time I hear it.

War movies with John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart and Kirk Douglas were the source of never ending entertainment. Many a Saturday afternoon was spent watching the movies on the t.v., me on the couch and he in his lounge chair. I was the human t.v. remote, with his instructions to turn to channel 2 (CBS) channel 7 (ABC) channel 4 (NBC) or the rare documentary on Channel 13 (WPIX/PBS). Although I had rather been outside with my friends, I swallowed my resentment and watched with him. I have always been glad I did.

He thought he had died and gone to heaven when cable tv arrived and a whole channel was dedicated to the history of war and other conquests of good over evil. Armed with his own remote now, The History Channel became his full time companion as he sat dying from the cigarettes that had finally broken him. The smile on his face as the Marine once again stuck it to the Germans, or the victory over the “Japs” is something that springs to my mind immediately when I think of him. His passion for war and war stories, whether it be World War II or the Revolution was unprecedented and unmatched by anyone – that is until I met my husband.

“Sit with me and watch this special about Hitler” he said to me one Sunday afternoon. “We really pound him in the end! It’s so great to see the good guys win!”

The snow was piling up outside and I had no plans to go anywhere. Supper was in the slow cooker and the aroma added to the cozy atmosphere. I could have gone into the other room and watched “Desperate Housewives” but I didn’t.

Sunday afternoon with Hitler. Some things never change, and I am thankful for that.

The theme song here.