say that. I’ve loved reading and golf, and I’ve had all of that I wanted. The days have gone by all too fast.
I wish I might have met this girl of yours. It seems to me that she, or the Navy, or both, are having quite a good effect on you. And believe me, Willie, that is by far the brightest thought I take with me into the hospital. I’ve let slide my relationship with you as I have so many other things, through plain sloth; particularly since your mother seemed anxious to take charge of you. It’s too bad we had no more children. Just bad luck. Your mother had three miscarriages, which you may not know.
I’ll tell you a curious thing. It seems to me that I have a higher opinion of you than your mother has. She regards you as a hopeless baby who will have to be coddled through life. But I am coming to believe that though you are pretty spoiled and soft at the surface, you are tough enough at the core. After all, I see, you have always done pretty much as you pleased with your mother, while giving her the sense of ruling you. I’m sure this was no plan on your part, but you’ve done it anyway.
You’ve never had a serious problem in your life, up to this Navy experience. I watched you in the forty-eight demerits business very closely. It had its comical side, but really it was a challenge. You rose to it in an encouraging way.
Perhaps because I know I’ll never see you again I find myself sentimentalizing over you, Willie. It seems to me that you’re very much like our whole country-young, naïve, spoiled and softened by abundance and good luck, but with an interior hardness that comes from your sound stock. This country of ours consists of pioneers, after all, these new Poles and Italians and Jews as well as the older stock, people who had the gumption to get up and go and make themselves better lives in a new world. You’re going to run into a lot of strange young men in the Navy, most of them pretty low by your standards, I daresay, but I’ll bet-though I won’t live to see it-that they are going to make the greatest Navy the world has ever seen. And I think you’re going to make a good naval officer-after a while. After a great while, perhaps.
This is not criticism, Willie, God knows I am pretty soft myself. Perhaps I’m wrong. You may never make a naval officer at all. Perhaps we’re going to lose the war. I just don’t believe it. I think we’re going to win, and I think you’re going to come back with more honor than you believed possible.
I know you’re disappointed at having been sent to a ship like the Caine . Now, having seen it, you’re probably disgusted. Well, remember this, you’ve had things your own way too long, and all your immaturity is due to that. You need some stone walls to batter yourself against. I strongly suspect you’ll find plenty of them there on the Caine . I don’t envy you the experience itself, but I do envy you the strengthening you’re going to derive from it. Had I had one such experience in my younger years, I might not be dying a failure.
Those are strong words, but I won’t cross them out. They don’t hurt too much and, furthermore, my hand isn’t the one to cross them out any more. I’m finished now, but the last word on my life rests with you. If you turn out well, I can still claim some kind of success in the afterworld, if there is one.
About your singing versus comparative literature-you may have a different outlook when the war is over. Don’t waste brain power over the far future. Concentrate on doing well now. Whatever assignment they give you on the Caine , remember that it’s worthy of your best efforts. It’s your way of fighting the war.
It’s surprising, how little I have to say to you in these last words. I ought to fill up a dozen more sheets, and yet I feel you are pretty good at getting your way-and in other matters any words I might write would make little sense, without your own experience to fill the words with meaning.
I wish I might have met this girl of yours. It seems to me that she, or the Navy, or both, are having quite a good effect on you. And believe me, Willie, that is by far the brightest thought I take with me into the hospital. I’ve let slide my relationship with you as I have so many other things, through plain sloth; particularly since your mother seemed anxious to take charge of you. It’s too bad we had no more children. Just bad luck. Your mother had three miscarriages, which you may not know.
I’ll tell you a curious thing. It seems to me that I have a higher opinion of you than your mother has. She regards you as a hopeless baby who will have to be coddled through life. But I am coming to believe that though you are pretty spoiled and soft at the surface, you are tough enough at the core. After all, I see, you have always done pretty much as you pleased with your mother, while giving her the sense of ruling you. I’m sure this was no plan on your part, but you’ve done it anyway.
You’ve never had a serious problem in your life, up to this Navy experience. I watched you in the forty-eight demerits business very closely. It had its comical side, but really it was a challenge. You rose to it in an encouraging way.
Perhaps because I know I’ll never see you again I find myself sentimentalizing over you, Willie. It seems to me that you’re very much like our whole country-young, naïve, spoiled and softened by abundance and good luck, but with an interior hardness that comes from your sound stock. This country of ours consists of pioneers, after all, these new Poles and Italians and Jews as well as the older stock, people who had the gumption to get up and go and make themselves better lives in a new world. You’re going to run into a lot of strange young men in the Navy, most of them pretty low by your standards, I daresay, but I’ll bet-though I won’t live to see it-that they are going to make the greatest Navy the world has ever seen. And I think you’re going to make a good naval officer-after a while. After a great while, perhaps.
This is not criticism, Willie, God knows I am pretty soft myself. Perhaps I’m wrong. You may never make a naval officer at all. Perhaps we’re going to lose the war. I just don’t believe it. I think we’re going to win, and I think you’re going to come back with more honor than you believed possible.
I know you’re disappointed at having been sent to a ship like the Caine . Now, having seen it, you’re probably disgusted. Well, remember this, you’ve had things your own way too long, and all your immaturity is due to that. You need some stone walls to batter yourself against. I strongly suspect you’ll find plenty of them there on the Caine . I don’t envy you the experience itself, but I do envy you the strengthening you’re going to derive from it. Had I had one such experience in my younger years, I might not be dying a failure.
Those are strong words, but I won’t cross them out. They don’t hurt too much and, furthermore, my hand isn’t the one to cross them out any more. I’m finished now, but the last word on my life rests with you. If you turn out well, I can still claim some kind of success in the afterworld, if there is one.
About your singing versus comparative literature-you may have a different outlook when the war is over. Don’t waste brain power over the far future. Concentrate on doing well now. Whatever assignment they give you on the Caine , remember that it’s worthy of your best efforts. It’s your way of fighting the war.
It’s surprising, how little I have to say to you in these last words. I ought to fill up a dozen more sheets, and yet I feel you are pretty good at getting your way-and in other matters any words I might write would make little sense, without your own experience to fill the words with meaning.
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