Robert strode into the Navy recruitment office with his chin up and his back straight, hoping he looked relaxed, confident, and a couple of years older than he actually was. It helped that he’d inherited his father’s height and broad shoulders.
He joined the line of other young men there to enlist. Soon it was his turn. “I’d like to sign up,” he told the elderly man behind the desk.
“That’s the spirit, son,” the man declared. “Uncle Sam needs you. Have a seat right here. The first step is to fill out these forms. Then you’ll head over to Room C for your physical.”
Robert wasn’t worried about the physical. He was healthy and fit—the doctors wouldn’t find anything wrong with him. The hard part was going to be filling out the forms. Carefully, he printed his name and social security number, then his home address and his father’s name for next of kin. Only one space in the personal information portion of the application remained blank: date of birth.
July 10, 1925, Robert wrote, pressing hard with the pen, as if that would make the date look more legitimate. Most of it was true, anyway—only the year was a little off. And Robert suspected that the armed forces were so eager to sign up new recruits that they wouldn’t question his application.
What does it matter, anyway, if I was born in 1927 instead of 1925? Robert thought as he capped the pen. What mattered was that he wanted to fight for the cause of world freedom. It was his duty.
An hour later, Robert was back out on the sidewalk. His thick brown hair was noticeably shorter; around his neck was a set of dogtags; he held a duffel containing his boot-camp assignment and a sailor’s uniform. I did it! Robert thought jubilantly. Striding up the street, he was so euphoric that he barely felt the pavement under his shoes. The very next day he’d leave for boot camp in Virginia; within months he’d actually be “over there,” helping the Allied forces defeat its enemies in Europe or the Pacific!
As he got closer to home, however, Robert’s mood changed. There was still one major hurdle to tackle.
Robert took the steps of the brownstone two at a time. Inside, he headed straight upstairs to his bedroom. He dumped the uniform onto his bed, then removed the jingling dogtags. Changing into athletic attire, he folded the recruitment papers and slipped them into his pocket.
He found his father, also dressed for exercise, chugging a glass of apple juice in the kitchen. “Tennis or basketball?” Ted asked.
“How about just a run in the park?” Robert suggested.
“Fine with me,” said Ted. Then he noticed his son’s hair. “Got your football-season haircut a little early, eh, son?”
Robert ran a hand over his crew cut self-consciously. “Uh, yeah.”
Outside, the two stretched for a few minutes, then jogged toward Central Park. It didn’t take long to work up a sweat; it was a warm August afternoon. Entering the shade of the park was a relief, and the two men settled comfortably into stride.
Robert, meanwhile, was racking his brain for the right way to begin what he knew would be a very intense conversation. “How was class today, Dad?”
Ted now taught musical history and journalism at New York University in addition to contributing freelance articles to magazines. “No one concentrates very well when it’s hot, including the professor,” Ted replied. “That’s the problem with summer school.”
Robert decided to take advantage of the fact that his father was huffing and puffing slightly. “Reading the newspaper today, I thought about Mom,” he began. “If she were alive today, I bet she’d be in the thick of things in Europe, reporting the events of the war.”
Ted shot a glance at his son out of the corner of his eye. “You’re probably right.”
“Dad, I want to fight for the cause.”
“We’ve been over this before,” Ted said, panting. “You’re much too young to enlist, Robert. Besides, the war will be over any day now.”
Ted didn’t sound convinced of this last statement. Robert jumped on it. “You know that’s not true, Dad. The war against Hitler is in its most crucial stage. And what about the Pacific?” In addition to the brutal land battles on the European front, Allied forces were also engaged in a deadly effort to regain the Pacific islands from the Japanese. “My country needs me,” Robert persisted. “If Mom were here, she’d let me go.”
Ted’s expression grew pained. “Your mother believed in fighting injustice, it’s true. But she was a wife and mother as well as a journalist. I think if she were here, she’d feel the same way I do about this. She’d ask you to wait until you’re eighteen. And then, if the war is still going on—”
“I’m not going to wait.”
Ted stopped. He bent forward, his hands on his knees, sucking in air. “What did you say?”
“I said I’m not going to wait.”
Ted straightened. The two men were the exact same height; he looked his son in the eye. “You enlisted already, didn’t you? I should have known.”
Robert knew there was no going back. The moment of reckoning had come. His heart pounding, he took the papers from his pocket. “I enlisted in the Navy this afternoon. I leave for Virginia first thing in the morning.”
Ted’s face, already flushed from exercise, darkened further with anger. “You enlisted without my permission?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t give me your permission.”
“And for good reason!” Ted exclaimed. “Robert, you’re only sixteen! You’re not old enough—”
“I’m old enough,” Robert interrupted, “and I’m going. There’s nothing you can do to stop me, Dad!”
Ted stared at his son. “Oh, yes, there is,” he said tightly. “I have a good mind to go down to the recruitment office and tell them the truth about your age.” He grabbed Robert’s shoulders and shook him hard. “Do you know what you’re doing? Do you know the risk you’re taking? This isn’t a parade, Bob. It’s not all marching bands and handsome uniforms. It’s a bloody, vicious war.”
Robert stood his ground. “I know what it is, Dad,” he said quietly.
Ted dropped his hands. His face looked tired and gray. “Do you know the risk you’re taking?” he repeated, his voice hoarse. “You could lose your life.”
“It’s the risk every soldier takes.”
“Then go.” Ted waved his hand and turned away from his son. “If you’re set on killing yourself, just go!”
“Dad, listen to me. Please—”
But Ted had taken off down the sun-dappled path at a dead run. With a lump in his throat, Robert watched his father disappear into the trees.
Robert awoke at dawn. He ate a quick breakfast and washed up in the bathroom, making as little noise as possible. There was no sound from the master bedroom; his father must still be asleep.
The night before, Robert had waited anxiously for his father to come home from the park. It had been well after dark when he’d finally heard his father’s footsteps in the hall, but Ted had marched straight to his bedroom without a word and slammed the door. Now, as Robert stuffed a few personal belongings into his duffel bag, he wondered if he would even see his father again before he left.
Just then there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Robert called.
Ted stepped into his son’s bedroom. There was a moment of silence. Then he said, “Bob, I’m sorry about the scene yesterday.”
“It’s OK, Dad. I understand how you must feel about this.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” Ted sat down on the edge of his son’s bed. “When your mother died, I was devastated. If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t think I would have cared much about living. You mean the world to me.”
“I know, Dad.”
“I don’t want you to fight,” Ted went on. “I can’t bear the thought that I might lose you. Part of me wants to deny that all this is happening. Last night I thought it might be easier if I just pushed you away from me. But then I remembered my mother’s story. Her father had lost his wife and his son; Sarah was all he had left. And he loved Sarah so much that when she did something he didn’t approve of, he pushed her away. He told her to go, and she did. He never saw her again, although I have to believe that he lived to regret his action.”
Robert bent his head.
“Here.” Ted held something out to Robert. “Take this.”
It was a gold ring. Robert turned it in his hand, examining the strange design. “That’s the Wakefield family crest,” Ted explained. “The ring belonged to my English grandfather, my mother’s father. I never did meet him, but apparently he was a strong man, with strong opinions.”
“In a word, stubborn.” Robert’s brown eyes crinkled with laughter. “It’s in the blood, then.”
“It’s in the blood,” Ted agreed. He stood. “But I think his stubbornness helped him live a long, full life.” His voice broke. “I wish the same for you.”
Robert stepped to his father’s side. The two men embraced.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Do your job and come back safely.”
“Don’t worry, Dad. Of course I’ll come back,” Robert said confidently.
