Tomorrow morning I'll climb out of my comfortable bed, put on dry clothes, brush my teeth. I'll have some juice before leaving the house, drive to a local coffee shop to pick up a breakfast sandwich and cup of coffee. I'll eat my sandwich and drink my coffee en route to my volunteer work at the stable. I'll spend the next few hours there doing what needs to be done.
Around 1:00, I'll return home, take a shower, have some lunch. I'll spend the afternoon reading or writing or playing my guitar or some combination of the three. My wife and I will have dinner, maybe go see a movie.
I don't know what my Father climbed out of on the morning of June 6, 1944 but I'm guessing it wasn't real comfortable. Wouldn't be surprised if he skipped brushing his teeth. If his clothes were dry when he put them on, they didn't stay that way for long. Food? K-rations, perhaps. Juice, coffee? Unlikely.
I can't imagine what the rest of my Father's day was like on Normandy Beach seventy years ago. But writing this post has reminded me to try - I owe him that.