Thoughts on D-Day

If you are of a certain age, you heard much about D-Day growing up. If you are my husband Hank, you share your birthday of June 6 with the date of D-Day, once a coincidence that people readily commented upon.

This year, the 80th anniversary of D-Day has stirred up publicity, particularly through of a group of survivors, all in their late 90s or older, who have come to France to honor the extraordinary sacrifices of their comrades. Many French have done honor to themselves by enthusiastically greeting and showering gratitude on these aged super-heroes. For that is what these fellows were, even though that is not what their stressed, shocked young minds and bodies felt as they carried out a nearly impossible, horrifically deadly, mission to change the course of history.

Others have written far more passionately than I about the sad truth that young Americans today have a near-total ignorance about World-War II, not to mention a lot of other history! Yes, time does move on. Yes, even the most drastic events do fade as decades pass, especially once those who experienced them are gone. Each generation faces new troubles that few can imagine at the tender ages of those boys who stormed the beaches in 1944, staring death in the face from their careening amphibian vessels, or from doorways of planes parachuting behind enemy lines.

That the French still heartily commemorate the heroism of these American, British, Canadian troops is heart-warming. It also fits with the paradigm of a society that, while enmeshed in the severe challenges of today’s Europe, nonetheless still teaches children history in the schools. You cannot go very far in European cities without seeing groups of school kids, from adorable kindergartners to slouchy teens, being led regularly through historical sites and museums. Here in America, we have a hit-and-miss approach. This is caused by many reasons including the vast spans of land and water that distance so many people from the sites where history was made. But the real culprit is the modern attitude and institutionalized policies in curricula, and the regrettable shift from conscientious teaching of history to ignoring history as irrelevant or rewriting it to fit current ideologies.

Those of you who kindly and regularly read these essays do teach your children history. Different assessments of specific topics may divide us, but the imperative to make sure children are educated about history unites us. Every maxim about how Freedom is not Free, and how it takes only a generation for a nation to lose its culture is not merely a boring phrase in your homes, but a principle that is explained year by year.

For those who are making history a priority, I admit that the internet can make the task easier. It truly is staggering how much excellent documentary material awaits our clicks, presented in manners appropriate to different ages. I am grateful for those resources.

On the other hand, nothing replaces the feet-on-the-ground experience. Nothing equals the experience of looking up at, touching the bases of, or soberly considering monuments that have been raised to commemorate the bloodshed that occurred there. Nothing exceeds the sobering awe of standing in quiet fields where decisive battles once shattered the air with their violence, or before endless rows of white crosses in the tenderly beautiful cemetery at Normandy or, for that matter, in the National Cemetery at Arlington and other National Cemeteries across the United States.

This year, Hank and I made a drive with the grandkids on Memorial Day to the National Cemetery closest to us at Salisbury, N.C. The formal commemoration offered was modest but still impressive to the kids. An older veteran came up afterwards to greet both children and gave them empty bullet casings from the 21-gun salute, which fascinated particularly Charlie. It was one of those moments where you, as an adult, say, “We need to do even more of this.”

What I wanted to do in today’s essay is to pay my small homage to those who gave their lives at D-Day. The slaughter on both sides was horrific. Anyone who spends time in Europe knows that the same fresh-faced youths crouched in terror on both sides. That the Allies cause was just and right goes without saying. That mothers on both sides of the line wept cannot be forgotten.

I also wanted to pay a tribute to my Hank on his birthday, the man without whom really nothing would work in our lives. First, there is the mountain of goodness that he embodies. Hour by hour, day by day, it shapes our family. Beyond that, there would be no Professor Carol, as the idea came from him. There would be no video-anything, as he was the one to figure out “digital film” and cameras when we first started filming on Discovering Music in 2008. (And he did kind of trick me, saying, “Let’s just make this one course and see what happens—all you have to do is talk to the filing cabinet” (my audience for the 17-units of teaching in Discovering Music). There would be no grand plan to travel and film for Exploring America’s Musical Heritage. Of course, I have been involved in all these things, but Hank was behind the drive to push, for example, for ostensibly impossible connections with groups like the Italian archeologist-musicologists in Synaulia and the gorgeously talented Ring Around Quartet whose Medieval and Renaissance performances causes Early Sacred Music to sparkle.) I am the talker; he is the motor.

Beyond all of that, Hank has exemplified the highest artistry, utmost focus, tireless ability to sit at editing and designing, not to mention enduring endless hours of tutorials on every kind of technology we have tried, moved on from, tried anew, abandoned, now employ, and are considering adopting. I could not survive a week of what he does.

So Happy Birthday to you Hank. Those words “Happy Birthday” never quite capture (for me) the desire to wish someone a fine launch into a new year quite the way other languages do, such as the Russian word Pozdravlaiu—I congratulate you [on the day of your birth]; the German Herzliche Glückwusch—Heartfelt Good Wishes; or the French Joyeux anniversaire, Joyful Anniversary. Either way, I wish you, Hank, a lovely new year with joy and fulfillment in all that you do.

p.s. I know you don’t like open praise, Hank. But this is my blog, so you have to let me publish it.