DR. FRENCH O'SHIELDS Our country has just observed another Memorial Day. And well we should! It is the day we remember and honor the brave men and women who have given or risked their life defending our country. If anyone deserves gratitude and honor, they do.

Each Memorial Day my thoughts focus more on World War II, (1941-1945). During this time I was 12 through 16 years old. The teens are impressionable and formative years and I recall many flashback memories.

It was Sunday afternoon, Dec. 7, 1941. Our neighborhood touch football game in my front yard was interrupted by my Dad telling us the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. Even 12-year-old boys knew this was bad news with unforeseen consequences.

The impact was immediate and real in many ways. Though my Dad was too old and I too young to be drafted, my two uncles immediately joined the military and were soon in combat. I missed them sorely, was anxious and prayed for their safety.

How well I remember every evening gathering around the radio with my parents and grandparents (who lived next door), hanging on every word of the war news. Anxiety ran high. In the early years, enemy forces — Germany, Italy, and Japan — made great advances in their invasions in Europe and the South Pacific. Other nights when the news was good, we gave thanks to God and prayed that our loved ones remained safe.

I recall being awakened in the night by sirens announcing the beginning of the invasion of Normandy by the Allied Forces. As requested, thousands of Christians across America hurriedly dressed and went to their places of worship to pray.

With great joy, I remember in 1945 sirens announced the surrender of our enemies and the end of the war. The jubilation erupted into the streets nationwide. A grateful nation again gathered in places of worship to pray and give thanks.

During the war, my most dreaded scene was seeing a gold star displayed in the front window of some homes. This red, white and blue flag, with a gold star in the center, indicated a family loved one had been killed in the war. Sometimes, there were two stars.

Across America, gold star flags hung in many windows, for 670,846 military men and women died in World War II.

Except for those in whose window a gold star hung, no one could totally know the true feelings and emotions of those living there. The disappointment, grief, loneliness and pain was overwhelming and seemingly unending, only diminished by pride in their loved one who had bravely paid the ultimate sacrifice for their country.

Yes, I know personally what it was like. The year was 1943. I was called from my high school English class. My Dad was waiting in the hallway to share with me the telegram every family dreaded: “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Sams: We regret to inform you that your son, Air Force Pilot, 1st Lt. Robert Wood Sams, has been killed in action in New Guinea.”

I was devastated.

Because I had lived all my life near, next to, or with my grandparents, Robert Wood seemed more like my brother than my uncle. He was only nine years older than I, my hero, and the one I most longed to be like.

As a 14-year-old, this was my first death of a loved one. Sadness and disappointment overshadowed my life. Still today, I often visit his grave in Gaffney’s Oakland Cemetery, four blocks from my home, where his body was returned after the war.

Tom Brokaw has defined and memorialized the WWII veterans as “the greatest generation.” Every veteran, in all our wars, gallantly either sacrificed or risked their lives to defend our country. Even God pays them tribute: “Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends” ( John 15:13, NKJ).

No, I will never forget nor fail to shed a tear when I recall the gold stars hanging in the windows! Nor should any American who has any heart at all.

(Dr. French O’Shields is a Gaffney native and a retired Presbyterian minister.)