Papa-San

Sunlight streamed through the big bay window, into the living room of a single family home. It softly caressed a brown recliner chair with a tall man of around 5’11” when he stood; now he sat comfortably with his new baby granddaughter. The baby wore her pink jumper and rested quietly on his chest. A baseball cap covered his bald head. It was slightly turned and cocked ocer his right eye. He wore his favorite green sweater with a blue short sleeved snap down shirt underneath, brown slack and black dress boots.
His strong, tanned, scarred hands tell the story of his life in the out of doors. Now they softly pat the baby’s back. Homer was a man in his 80’s but could pass for someone much younger. He was a proud grandpa. Glasses balanced on his long thin sharp nose, in front of soft blue eyes that lit up his tan heart shaped face. His high cheek bones contrasted to slightly hallow cheeks and thin lips. His ears protrude from the side of this head, like a friendly Mr. Potato Head. He’s still very thin, having never fully recovered from his years as a Prisoner of War during World War II.
Homer had been stationed during that time in the Philippine Islands. On December 8 while he listened to the reports of the attack on Pearl Harbor, the Japanese attacked the islands. Within just a few days, Clark Field and the Island of the Philippines surrendered. Homer became a Prisoner of war and a survivor of the long, agonizing walk, later called the Bataan Death March. After being shipped over dangerous waters to Japan, he ended up at Fukioka Camp 17. Homer lived on a hand full of rice, three times a day. He worked hard in the coal mines and stayed in cramped barracks and he bore witness to his fellow brothers deaths for three and a half years. Homer saw many life changing events. One of the most memorable was the mushroom cloud from the bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima. He said, “When I saw that cloud, I didn’t know what had happened but I knew it had changed history.”
Now in his twilight years, finally to have a grandchild to care for and love, his life was complete. As he softly rocked his baby girl, he began to sing to her in his soft baritone voice the same loving words he had sung to his own daughter.
“She’s my baby. Yes she is. Yes oh yes she is.
She’s my baby, she’s my pet, she’s the sweetest baby yet.”
To those who read this and wonder what was so special about this man. Why did I choose to write about Homer? It is because he was more to me than just a man. He was a hero to me and many others. But most importantly, he was my Papa-San.