Last night I sat on the floor in Mom’s room and watched most of The Best Years of Our Lives, a post WWII movie about three heterosexual white men returning to civilian life and their heterosexual white friends and families.
All day long my mind has replayed scenes. My favorite parts are: Wilma’s enduring love for Homer, Milly’s kiss on Al’s cheek after his honest speech to the bankers, and Peggy wiping the sweat from Fred’s face when he woke from a trauma nightmare.
Brief dialogue between me and Mom:
Me: I didn’t realized jobs were so scarce for WWII vets.
Mom: Yes, until the government required that vets be hired first.
Me: I didn’t realize poverty was so high after the war.
Mom: I was paid $10 a week when I started working at the drug store.
(Al was offered $1000 a month to be the VP of loans at the bank. That would have been a fortune to most people, apparently.)
Me: That’s Hoagy Carmichael?
Mom: Yep.
She was right.
Today I read that Harold Russell (Homer) was a non-actor WWII vet who actually did lose both hands in the war. The academy gave him an honorary award because they didn’t think he’d win an Oscar, but he did, for best supporting actor, so he won two awards for the same movie.
The impact of story and screen is strong, another source of lifelong learning.
Having two people in their 90’s close-by also helps.
Hope you’re well.
I’m re-vamping my website/blog.
Feedback always welcome.
connecting through stories
