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As a sailor, I know what Sundays in port are like. It is the one day you can actually be laid back and lazy. At 7am on a sunny day, you might be out on deck, or on the mess decks, or dealing with some of those personal chores that you rarely have time for any other day of the week. Or you might be on cold iron watch ... taking a few readings and watching the clock. You might be nursing a hangover from Saturday liberty. Maybe you are getting ready to attend a church service, or going on the beach for a lazy day.
But, on this particular Sunday things are different. Aircraft with strange markings are flying low over your base, gun fire, explosions, darkness below decks, mayhem. 2000 people just like you die that Sunday, 1200 on one battleship. Many are trapped, many are wounded. Fires burn, ships struggle to get underway, smoke fills the air. Sirens and ship's whistles blare. The port comes alive. A lazy Sunday morning turns into a struggle for survival. That Sunday changed the lives of millions and will be forever etched in the collective mind of the American sailor.On that Sunday, the sleeping giant awoke filled with dreadful resolve. That resolve led American sailors to another day on another ship in another port on another Sunday... September 2, 1945.
To all the mates who suffered through that day, to all those who perished on that day, and to all those who suffered through that war. I remember you on this day... Ne Obliviscaris .
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