On this Memorial Day, remember to never forget.
Not last night, but the night before,
Three tom cats came knocking on my door.
One had a fiddle, one had a drum,
One had a pancake stuck to its bum.
A couple nights ago, a variation of the above playground song came to mind. Take note, this isn’t a cute, nostalgic story where I want to skip rope and chant rhymes. It’s a doggone tale about a stinky tail. Something indeed stuck to one’s bum, but it wasn’t a pancake.
Frank T. Snyder, my father, was a man who valued family and brotherhood, and it’s no wonder, since he was the baby of nine boys.
Their father, Janko Petrovich, immigrated from Croatia to America as a young man who wanted to give his family the streets of diamonds Eastern Europeans (and many others) were promised. My grandfather was advised on his boat ride over to Americanize his richly ethnic, beautiful name for his family’s future in this country, so he entered America as John Snyder.
A changed name didn’t change the Snyder boys’ merit, contributions, or devotions to community, country, and church. As young men, all nine extended their band of brotherhood patriotically by serving their country in all four military branches.
In fact, several of the Snyders served in different branches at the same time during WWII. This was an extremely unusual circumstance, since there had been an unwritten embargo placed by the government that prohibited more than a few brothers to be in the service during war times. Somehow, they got through this protective red tape and bravely served simultaneously; thankfully, all returned home safely and honorably.
My father was stationed with the Army in England at the tail end of the Korean War. Thank you to everyone who has, does, and will serve our country with loyalty, dedication, and patriotism.
I’m proud to be an American!