Dear Roz is documentation of the author's journey to find his father, and at the same time, to find pieces of himself which lay hidden in his collective shadows, most notably anger and fear. It records his search for the truth by reading his father's letters and speaking to him through letters of his own; letting his sorrow, fear, joy, anger and a host of other emotions flow freely from him onto paper. Since this is his search for the truth to foster his growth and healing, this was not the place to put on the proverbial rose-colored glasses and present his father, or himself, as more or less than they were.

The emotions and thoughts presented in this book, especially about his father, are his and he owns them. He has not attempted to represent how his brother Mark, or his sisters, Susan and Sally, feel or reacted to any situation that he discusses. That would be a subject for their own personal explorations. Come along on a journey that evokes the deepest feelings and thoughts a child can fathom, the discovery of a parent through his own words.

Dear Roz

Finding the Truth about My Father in his Wartime Love Letters to My MotherBy Richard Leitman Michael Hollander

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Richard Leitman
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-7114-7

Contents

Chapter I Introduction...........................................................1Chapter II From My Heart.........................................................8Chapter III The Letters - War And The Life Of An Infantryman.....................12From Baby Dick...................................................................15Rules To Live By.................................................................22A Real Man Has Integrity.........................................................41His Rougher Side.................................................................53Does He Look Like Me.............................................................64The Mandolin.....................................................................74I Killed My First Man............................................................86Generosity.......................................................................98Speaking The Native Tongue.......................................................109An Informed Citizen..............................................................119The Strain Is Showing............................................................131I've Had Enough Of War...........................................................151Praying To God...................................................................167Where Were All The Jews..........................................................180No More Outdoors For Me..........................................................191On The Lighter Side..............................................................211Still No Mail....................................................................224Life Is Good.....................................................................238About Whiskey....................................................................251The Significance Of A Watch......................................................266My Keepsake......................................................................279Give Her Permission To Live......................................................296Chapter IV Finding My Father Through His Letters.................................301Special Acknowledgement..........................................................317Appendix A.......................................................................319

Chapter One

Introduction

Today my father died. His passing was not easy and as we waited for his last breath to mercifully arrive, as I saw that frail and dying man lying before me, I experienced a deep longing for his eyes to really see me, his hands to touch me, and his heart to love me. My mind was filled with a whirlpool of memories that carried me back through 65 years of events, which eventually led to a reversal in the adult-child roles between us. Back to his strength, his laughter, his fearsome roar, his absence, and his sadness. I found myself wanting one more chance to ask him all the unasked questions that had followed me for a lifetime, only to realize that even if he were still alive I would first have to complete my transformation into an adult, and he would have to soften his heart if this quest for answers was to be successful.

I was born in New York City and my early childhood was formed in the shadow of World War II. The country was optimistic and the opportunity for personal achievement was palpable. My parents, like most, wanted their children to be the best, to grow and prosper. In my young mind, our home was a place to celebrate good grades and achievement. A place where to be loved was often to be judged, where failure carried the belief that one was less loved. This was a time when fathers who fought in WW II carried wounds too deep to permit an outward expression of love so fully needed by a sensitive young son.

As a boy I mostly succeeded; that was the message I wanted to give to my father. When success eluded me, I sometimes invented the success so that Dad would be happy and continue to be proud of me. I now understand that the possibility of either of us truly knowing each other was difficult or remote if, to meet his expectations, I had to be something other than what I really was.

My relationship with my father was not very healthy, although I did not acknowledge this until my own children were young adults. In earlier years I strived to live by the commandment "Honor thy father and mother." I would not allow myself to concede that Dad was anything but perfect, and I stuffed any negative feelings towards him deep into my gut. Slowly I began to erect a barrier between us, protecting me from his behavior; so I could be safe in my childhood beliefs of his perfection.

About fifteen years ago I began a program of self-growth and as a result began to acknowledge some of my truths about myself and others, including my father. I began to see things more realistically, and for the first time acknowledged how my father had hurt me and others. The barrier I had erected between us commenced to grow taller and wider as I attempted to block out decades of anger and frustration towards him. In time, however, this did not satisfy my core need to love and be close to my father, so I changed the direction of my personal work. My goal now was to find a place in my heart for my father. Writing this book is part of that work.

Dad died when he was 89; for several years prior he had become progressively weaker as his body tired and he was afflicted with some dementia. In the final two years of his life, my mother chose to have a full time aide live in their home to help care for him. While his physical deterioration was difficult to witness, it was the slow deterioration of his mind that became increasingly challenging to all of us and was particularly hard on my mother. Even as he approached death, he was unable to find ways to connect with and love those who cared the most. He needed my mother to sit next to him and hold his hand for hours at a time, and he became agitated, even hostile, if she was called away. As his concentration failed, he became more easily angered by the real or imagined world of his death.

During his last several months his children spent more time visiting with him and Mom. My wife and I stayed several nights at a time at their home. Once I remember sitting up with Mom all night when we thought Dad was at his end, holding his hand, caressing him and sending him love. True to form, Dad suddenly opened his eyes, told us to stop bothering him, turned over, and went back to sleep. Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night holding and comforting my mother. Was this to be the way I remembered my father, as a fierce, insensitive, and angry man?

Following Dad's funeral Mom gave me a special family treasure and for the past months I have been mining it for pieces of gold that might begin to give me the father I had lost amongst his and my unseen and unspoken shadows. That treasure is an intricately detailed five-year written record of his journey through the Second World War, in letters he wrote to my mom, Roz. A treasure that has held the truth of my father's heart for a half century waiting for the moment of his passing to give him back to me. I went from being a man who occasionally thought of his father to a son who can't get thoughts of him out of his head. I am so much more for having...