#shout out to that older classmate in 2003

[famewolf]

I got myself some pokemon cards as a treat for cooking from home all week and doing a bunch of extra errands and work related shenanigans. got some really fun pulls and a lot of stuff that I don't have!

[calanthemavis]

LEMON - a Renesmee Cullen one-shot, inspired by “Thirteen” (2003)

"Renesmee Cullen!", the teacher barked. I heard snickering behind me, causing me to roll my eyes. Not another day of them laughing at my name. If there was anyone to blame, it was my mother. She could have chosen any other name (well, except for Edward Jacobina or Gertrude), so why had she chosen Renesmee? To honour her mother and my father's adoptive mother. So dumb.

The teacher ignored the laughter of the students and roared at me to read the next poem in the textbook. I was stuck in an English Literature class and we were learning about poetry. I personally thought our teacher made the class even worse and more boring than it was. Neither it was advanced enough for my mind, nor my classmates seemed to cooperate and make things easier with their constant snickering and gossiping.

The material was far too easy. We were preparing for our SAT exams and we were just now learning about poetry?

I let out a small sigh before opening my mouth to read the example on the page of the textbook:

He was crippled but only his bodywas cracked It's not easy, nor is it an easy matter to explain. "Let's just leave it at that," she says and closes The Holy Book of Lies. She covers her eyes, denying to herself what she thought happened.

The class snickered yet again. What the fuck did they find amusing enough to laugh? The poem? The way I had read it?

Having just read the poem, I personally found it relatable. I could easily identify myself with the woman and the man could definitely be Jacob. The way I interpret the poem had to do with the imprinting. Ever since Jacob (in the presence of the rest of my family, of course) had revealed to me the truths of imprinting, I hadn't spoken to him. I had refused to look him in the eyes. I needed time to process this and everyone was making it even harder for me.

My heart ached that there was practically no one on this planet who appreciated me the way I was without some magic being involved. Dozens of vampires had fought to save my life but only because hybrid children (like me) were somehow alluring to everyone (supposedly). If that was the case, then why did my classmates think I was nothing special? Why hadn't they struck a conversation with me during the past couple of years? And before you blame me for being antisocial, here is my defence: every time I'd tried speaking to them, I would be met with snickering, snickering and even more snickering. So much for "Oh, honey! Everyone will love you! You're a hybrid, you attract people the way honey attracts bees!". Well, I had to be some sort of honey that was too sweet to be eaten, the kind of honey people would be repulsed by (did such thing even exist?).

The bell rang before the teacher could even give us homework. I now had to have a lunch break which would be followed by a free period. Only, however, I wasn't going to sit in the cafeteria with everybody else. I had learnt that nobody would ever want to sit by a freakshow like me. Luckily, very few people came outside, especially to the corner where I hid.

When I made sure nobody was watching me, I snuck a hand in the pocket of my jeans to retrieve a lighter and a cigarette. Thank the Lord that my parents never checked what I hid in my clothes. I didn't want to have to resort to sneaking stuff in my bra or panties - that would be gross.

I had learnt to smoke as soon as I had begun attending this school. So far nobody seemed to be aware of that. Covering the smell of cigarettes was not as hard. I could easily lie that I had stood next to smokers after classes. After a long conversation with my mother and a therapy session with one of my uncles, my dad had begun to trust me more and to not snoop on my private thoughts (the biggest mistake ever if you are the parent of a teenager).

Smoking made me feel older. It made me somehow feel connected to my human side. I was aware of the consequences, but truth to be told, I didn't care. So what if I died? Everybody died, even vampires! Fear of death, in my honest opinion, was the most ridiculous fear to ever exist. Yes, death was devastating, but it was part of life.

And when I put the cigarette between my lips, ready to inhale and exhale one more time, I closed my eyes, never allowing myself to rush. I wanted to take my time, to live in the moment. Smoking was a privilege. I could only do it outside and as long as I was out of my father's reach. If my mind was safe, then so were my cigarettes as well. I couldn't exist without them anymore. They were the only thing that still kept me where I was.

My sweet safe heaven.

*

Jacob and I were at his place. One week later, I had forgiven him, alas not so easy. I needed something from him and I had the feeling that he was the only one who could give it to me.

We were sitting on the couch in his living room, as the TV was distracting him. That was when I knew I had to execute my plan. If he had imprinted on me and he would do anything for me, then what was the problem in him being the one to have the key to my virginity? I was sick and tired of being supposedly sixteen and pure. And my father could go and shove his 1910s moral values in his ass. Or my mother's. I wasn't like them. I wanted to be cool. And the cool girls had penetrated vaginas. They thought I couldn't hear them in the toilet? Perks of being a vampire-human hybrid.

Or so I had thought.

At first, it was easy to mimic women from books and television and to begin planting small kisses on his neck, as he was still distracted by some crappy TV series. But when I attempted to straddle him, he pushed me away, knocking me onto the carpeted floor.

"What the fuck was that for?", I exclaimed, trying to hide the fact that I was in pain. My bum was throbbing.

"What is wrong with you?", he raised his voice at me. He had never done that. Not even the previous week when I had shouted in his face and hadn't wanted to see him ever again.

Even trying to play dumb didn't work. He continued screaming about how my parents would freak out and how we weren't even in a relationship. Apparently, he wanted to follow my parents' advice and to wait until marriage. Loser.

I squeezed my lips into a thin line and grabbing all of the dignity I still had left, I rushed out of the small house, seeing red. How could he do this to me? Wasn't I supposed to wear the pants in this relationship?

As soon as I was far enough away from the red house, I began pacing back and forth, feeling humiliated. Fuck Jacob. Fuck my classmates and my teachers. Fuck everyone! Only cigarettes didn't betray me. And they never would, because they were objects, toys to calm people down.

I quickly lit a cigarette to calm myself down. I thought I would be left alone, but, of course, God had another plan for me.

I was smoking, trying to be discreet when I heard footsteps. And who did I see when I looked up? Seth Clearwater. Just my fucking luck.

It was too late. He had seen me with a cigarette in my hand. I quickly dropped it and furiously stepped on it with my foot. Seth's eyes never left mine. They looked as if they were going to pop out of his face at any moment. And I couldn't blame him. If anyone I knew in real life saw me like that, they would be disturbed by the view as well. Besides, no one expected the miracle child of the Cullens to be a smoker. Well, too bad. Expectations never lead to good things anyway.

"Nessie? Was that a cigarette in your hand?", he screeched. If he was even a little bit louder than he already was, the whole reservation would hear us. As if it hadn't been more than enough that Seth had already seen me and was going to do God knew what! Especially since he was studying Medicine. I wasn't in the mood for being lectured about smoking. My body - my choice!

From anger, I pulled him by the collar of his shirt so that our eyes could meet. And then I hissed in his face like a snake:

"If you dare to tell anyone about it, I will never forgive you, got it?"

I had never seen Seth behave like that. He looked as if he had seen a bear and had pooped in his pants from fear.

I knew I had been incredibly rude to Seth. But he was Jacob's best friend. I couldn't let him tattle on me.

*

"Renesmee Carlie Cullen! What is this?", my mother roared as soon as I stepped into the main house. My father had insisted on picking me up from school that day. During the entire journey back home, he hadn't spoken a word to me. One damn word. And I was about to find out why.

Then, when we arrived home, I was taken aback. In the family room, everyone had gathered, looking like they had just witnessed a murder. At first, I was confused. What was going on? Had anyone died? And then I noticed that my mother was holding a bag. But not just any - it was the one where I kept every secret.

My heart was beating rapidly. I could feel sweat forming on my entire body. My face was probably flushed like a tomato. Now I looked like I had seen a bear and had pooped in my pants. Karma was a bitch. And I was about to pay for everything I had done.

My mother poured everything... and I mean everything on the coffee table. My hidden packets of cigarettes, my lighters, my stash of money I had been stealing from my parents for quite a while. How else could I afford my goodies? I had a green little monster inside of me that I had to satisfy!

Aunt Rosalie's gasp was the loudest. Both her palms had covered her mouth and her eyes were even wider than mine or Seth's the previous day. I imagined she was in disbelief that her own niece could do stuff like that. Even uncle Emmett couldn't calm her down.

Something was making my heart feel as if it was being squeezed with bare hands. But what was it? Was it guilt? Or was it the shame? Or was it just because all of my secrets had been exposed in a matter of seconds?

And how had my family found out in the first place?

"Seth," my father loudly confirmed my suspicions. He had to have told Jacob, who had to have informed my family. What else?

I wanted to break everything around me. To burn the whole house, including my whole family and me. Or to at least sink in the ground and to never re-appear.

Instead, when I was asked why I had done all of that shit, my body betrayed me. Cries escaped from my mouth as I dropped on the floor like a puppet without somebody to control it. What was the point to fight back? I was defeated. Outnumbered. All I could do was to allow myself to be taken in somebody's cold arms. I wasn't controlling my mind anymore. My father could now see the treatment I had been receiving from my peers for the past couple of years and how it had contributed to my new unhealthy habits. How the imprinting had deceived me, how I had almost lost all of my dignity the previous day. He could see that I wasn't okay and that I hadn't been for a while.

"It will be alright," I heard cooing in my ear, but I couldn't register whose voice it was. Scratch that. I couldn't register anything except for my own wailing.

That night I wept in my mother's cold embrace until I fell asleep. And when I opened my eyes the next morning, it was a new day.

*

Long three years had passed since that day when my secrets had been revealed to my vampiric family. Long years full of therapy sessions, family time and some dates with Jacob until we broke up. He had decided to stay back in La Push and I wanted to move on. I supposed imprint didn't always end up the way Sam and Emily had - with a happy family after all of the troubles they had endured. On the bright side, Leah (Sam's ex) was now in a relationship with Jacob. They wanted me to bring the rings on their wedding day. Aunt Alice was already sewing me a dress.

It was my first day in a new school. I was starting my second cycle of high school again by myself. I was hoping it would be better than the previous one. If not, then I didn't know what I was going to do. I couldn't be cooped up at home all day long. Despite the fact that I was going to be forever young, that didn't mean I couldn't contribute to society somehow. But that would come later on. I wanted to allow myself to be a teenager first, to gain some experience before University and from there I would decide what job to find.

My mother had driven me to school that morning. She thought it wouldn't be so bad, since I was pretending to be a ninth-grader. Most fourteen-year-olds still spent time with their families, including allowing their mothers to pick their clothes for school and to drive them to school. There was still time for everything. No need to rush. I had grown up in the blink of an eye and had caused trouble for everybody.

And now that I was chronologically almost fourteen, I could let myself behave like one. Fourteen-year-olds, as much as they despised it, still needed the adults in their life. And after years of attempting to be a pseudo-adult, so did I. No matter what, I would always need my family.

On the ride to my new school, I had sat in the front and had chosen the music to allow myself to feel calmer. The previous night, I had had a nightmare for the first time in years. I had woken up at three in the morning, drenched in sweat as if I was a little girl again, scared to death by the Volturi. I had barely slept, allowing my nerves to take over me.

Before I left the car, my mom grasped my hand. She wanted me to look at her and so I did. She made me promise her yet again that I wasn't going to do any foolish stuff anymore. Or else those three years of therapy would be for nothing.

I released a breath I had attempted to hold, "I just hope that this high school experience will be better than my previous one, you know," I wanted to chuckle, to be funny. But I found nothing amusing in my words.

My mother looked at me with a hint of concern in her eyes, "Don't worry about that. You'll do great, okay? And if something is wrong, don't hesitate to come to us. We are here for you."

As soon as she was done with her pep talk, I couldn't help but throw my arms around her, holding back tears. This time, everything would be different.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/keepfaithbaby

[paganinpurple]

A Feline’s Family - MariChat May 2019

Buy Me A Coffee?

AO3

Chapters (If there’s no link, it’s not written yet)

1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10

11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20

21  22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  30  31

Day 18 – Balconies

Ladybug released her yo-yo string, somersaulting in mid-air before dropping to the concrete below. Her transformation melted away as she landed, Tikki spinning out of her earring with a giggle that was bound to haunt her for a few days.

“Your face is almost the same colour as me!” the little red bug squealed in joy, tiny arms coming up to cover her mouth.

“Tikki! Shh!” Marinette squeaked, mortified, “He’s right behind us. He’ll hear you!” 

If she had thought Chat’s flirting had been the most difficult thing to try coping with before, she had seriously underestimated the rest of the people in her life.

She had even stupidly thought school was going to be a relief from the constant barrage of pick-up lines.

Instead, she had found that school was a daily test of her ability to fight down her traitorous blood supply from flooding her cheeks with colour – as Adrien seemed determined to spend as much time as possible in her company. Alya was merciless in her ribbing about it, keeping it relatively low-key while he was around before completely tormenting her once he disappeared for so much as a second. It also hadn’t helped that in the lead up to their reveal, Marinette had been non-the-wiser to the boy’s sudden burst of interest in being around her – which Alya now thought had all been for show.

“I still don’t get why you didn’t just tell me he was sneaking out to spend the night at your place regularly,” she had said yesterday, “I would’ve happily listened to you scream with joy.” Marinette reddened even further as she remembered how she had been awkwardly balancing Alya’s teasing with keeping Adrien out of earshot without accidentally upsetting him by keeping her distance. A fact Alya was taking great pleasure in exploiting, knowing if she spoke low enough, Marinette wouldn’t be able to retaliate without him realising something was up. “I could’ve even clued you in sooner that he’d started crushing on you.”

Because it made sense to her best friend (and from the knowing looks thrown her way, Nino too) that Adrien would’ve picked the girl he liked when he started acting rebelliously towards his father and snuck out to visit a girl. At night. In her bedroom.

Especially given Adrien’s newfound style of flirting with her – in front of everyone. It was a more reserved form compared to Chat’s usual bravado and she had uncomfortably discovered that it both exhilarated her and turned her insides into jelly. The death glares she received from Chloe and Lila certainly hadn’t helped her to relax either. But then neither had the shrewd glances from her classmates, and other friends around school, whenever Adrien referred to the bakery as home.

And really, why else would the Dupain-Chengs have wanted to foster Adrien instantly after the news of his father’s villainy broke, unless he had already been a constant addition to their lives? There had been no logical way to explain and still hide her status as sleepover friend from anyone who knew them – at least not without creating a hundred difficult questions she couldn’t exactly answer without endangering their own identities.

“I’m pretty certain your parents and Master Fu have already said much worse in front him tonight than I ever could,” Tikki chuckled, bringing Marinette back to the moment. She groaned, hiding her face in her hands at the memories of all the ‘couple’ talk the three adults had used when referring to the two of them.

Her and Adrien had finally found time to fill Master Fu in on the situation completely, including that they now knew each other’s identities, and that their parents were also in on the secret. It had been an uneasy wait for the reporters and police to back off enough that they could move around without fear of being followed, though they had still played things safe and acted as if they were introducing Adrien to a family member, in case anyone noticed.

At Tom and Sabine’s insistence they had arranged a meeting as soon as they thought it was safe for them to get to know each other – and so her parents could ask any questions the kids might have been unable to answer, or not thought to ask. Family movie night had needed to be sacrificed, but Marinette had been sure it would be worth it. At least, until the teasing had started, and she once again found herself wishing she was able to melt through the floor at will.

No shouts of, “Mama!” “Papa!” or “Master!” had made a difference and Marinette had resigned herself to a fate of death by humiliation as Master Fu had gotten around to explaining that he had tried to pair up two young souls who he thought were “made for each other.” She had absolutely refused to look Adrien in the eyes during that part, but she still managed to catch his shy, embarrassed smile in her peripheral vision when Tom had reached over to muss his hair right after.

There was a muffled thump on the balcony behind her, indicating Chat had finally arrived home. He often liked to stay to the shadows and circle back on himself to ensure no one spotted where they were headed –and normally she did too– but she had been so flustered by everything going through her mind tonight that she had neglected her usual caution and taken a more direct route. But he had finally caught up to her, and now they were both home.

Together. Alone.

And she still had no idea how to bring up her own feelings with him, even with all the constant teasing making it the elephant in the room most days.

“Hey, My Lady? How long do you think your parents’ll stay chatting to Master Fu?” he asked with a tone of almost forced casualness, “Like, should we wait for film night? Or maybe we should just watch one in our room? Just the two of us?” She turned to see him scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly, a hint of nerves evident in the wrinkle of his brow. “Just, it’s getting kind of late, and they’ll have to be up early to work the bakery tomorrow. And I don’t know if you’re worn out from all the…from the talking, but I’d like to do something.”

Biting her lip to hinder her first instinct –which was to push him away by the nose and make a quick getaway– Marinette smiled shyly at him. Her head dropped a little despite how hard she tried to cling on to her depleting confidence, and she found herself glancing up at Chat, almost through her eyelashes.

“Sure,” she said, and as much as she tried for a normal voice, her words came out tender and full of some unspoken emotion, “Why don’t you go find something you think I’ll like?”

Chat blinked at her for a moment, eyes wide and owlish before he shook his head and gave her a weak smile. “I’ll go have a look then,” he said, clearing his throat so his own voice sounded more natural, “You know, this is one of the few times I’d love to have access to my stuff at the mansion. There’s a ton of stuff I’m dying to watch with you.”

She watched as he dropped through the skylight and presumably began to rummage through her family’s collection of films in the main room. She sighed as she considered his parting words. It didn’t seem to bother him that he was only allowed to keep some bare essentials from his time at his father’s, but it was still clearly a weight on his mind to know that everything he owned was being searched through repeatedly on a daily basis, along with everything else in the mansion. Then there was the constant stream of questioning from the police and their reminders that Gabriel’s assets were being held, as well as keeping him informed of any supposed progress in their full searches of the company premises, and certain employee’s homes. Marinette often wondered if they suspected him and were just looking for telling reactions; or if they genuinely wanted him to know how everything was going, given how in the dark he’d been about his father.

“So, I was stuck between an older classic,” Chat breathed against her ear, making her jump a little in fright, “and I know it’s only from 2003 and your dad would kill me if he heard me say that, but it’s Love Actually! That’s a classic, right?”

Marinette fought off the trembling that threatened to give away how nervous she felt. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was from the shock at his sudden appearance, or the way his mouth had been so close to her ear that she had been able to hear the sounds his lips made as they formed the words before his voice broke through. Or even if it was the ungodly amount of discomfort she got from the thought of watching that film with him – given how she remembered first seeing it with her mama in the room and feeling utterly mortified at some of the scenes. She somehow managed to step away and turn to face him without belaying her emotional distress, and then nodded gently in response to his question.

“Or,” Chat continued, “There’s this one – About Time? I’ve never seen it, but I wanted to. Is it good?”

“Um-” she quickly ran over and snatched the DVD case from his clawed hand, “-maybe that one isn’t the best for you to watch. It has a bit of a theme about…” As she trailed off, her eyes screwed up a little and she remained alert to how he might react, ready to offer support if he needed it.

“…Losing family?” she finished tentatively.

For a moment she regarded his rapidly dampening eyes –full of unshed tears– before he turned and wiped at them furiously with the back of his hand. When he was done, he moved towards her and she was still straining her mind to work fast enough to react when he pulled her into a warm, tight hug against his slightly heaving chest. She hugged back as best she could, his cheek resting on the top of her head and DVD case pressing against his back awkwardly as she tried to wrap her arms around him.

“Thank you,” he breathed, voice cracking and sounding slightly watery, though she didn’t feel any tears against her hair or clothes, “You’re always thinking of me. Thank you.”

Only a moment later, she felt his breath even out a little as he regained his emotional strength once more, breaking the hug almost hesitantly to look at her instead. “So, Love Actually?”

She smiled. “Love Actually.”

“Okay!” he said, suddenly grinning and far too cheerful, “Uncomfortable simulated sex scene it is!”

She squeaked and crumpled to the floor, where she remained for a solid twenty minutes before he finally managed to convince her to come downstairs, despite his own fit of giggles.

Buy Me A Coffee?

[deadpresidents]

Bush 41: War Hero • President • Patriarch • Patriot

The USS Finback, a 312-foot-long Gato-class submarine surfaced a little before noon on September 2, 1944 in the treacherous waters near Chichi Jima, the site of a Japanese military base on one of the Bonin Islands, approximately 150 miles north of Iwo Jima. The Finback was assigned “lifeguard duty” and was performing search and rescue missions for American airmen who had been shot down in action and might have survived via bail-out or crash landing.

Earlier that morning, four TBM Avenger aircraft had launched from the USS San Jacinto targeting radio installations on Chichi Jima. At around 8:30 AM, one of the Avengers was blasted by Japanese anti-aircraft shells as it made its bombing run over the island. With the plane on fire and losing control, the pilot continued his run, dropping his four 500-pound bombs on the target he had been given that morning on the San Jacinto. Turning back towards the sea, smoke and flames filled the cockpit, choking the crew of three. Working hard to create distance between the island and the failing aircraft, the pilot ordered his crew to bail out by parachute, shouting “Hit the silk!” over the Avenger’s radio.

As the pilot exited the aircraft, his head smashed into the plane’s tail, slicing a thick gash above his eye, tearing panels from his chute, and sending him plummeting towards the sea at a higher rate of speed than he should have been. Still, he splashed down in the Pacific Ocean and another American plane in the vicinity dropped a life raft near him. He was alive. He was alone.

On Chichi Jima, four miles to the southwest, Japanese authorities began to organize a search party to capture any downed American pilots who might have survived. Boats were launched to find them. The pilot, stung by a Portuguese man-o-war, vomiting from ingesting sea water, and dazed from the trauma of the attack and the bleeding head wound, still had the presence of mind to begin paddling away from Chichi Jima. Allied forces never captured Chichi Jima during the war, and reports of atrocities ranging from Japanese soldiers summarily beheading Allied prisoners to cannibalism of POWs by Japanese troops led to the post-war execution of five of Chichi Jima’s leading officers, including the commander, Major Sueo Matoba.

The current was sweeping the Avenger’s pilot towards Chichi Jima and he desperately paddled against it and out into the open sea. Other members of his aerial squadron opened fire to keep away the Japanese boats heading towards him while another American aircraft radioed the downed pilot’s position to the Finback, which steamed towards him.

When the submarine surfaced, it was unclear to the pilot whether he had been rescued or captured. Then five American submariners appeared on the deck. Grainy video footage, now over 70 years old, survives of the Finback’s submariners fishing the gangly, 6'2" pilot from the sea after his three-hour-long ordeal battling injuries and the Pacific Ocean.

Like so many of the soldiers and sailors risking and sacrificing their lives on distant continents and in remote seas, including the men who saved his life on that September 2, 1944, the pilot was very young – just 20 years old.

His name was George Herbert Walker Bush.

•••

Today, George H.W. Bush celebrates his 93rd birthday and is one of the longest-living Presidents in American history. As of today, only two U.S. Presidents have lived longer – Gerald Ford and Ronald Reagan, both of whom died at the age of 93 (former President Jimmy Carter will turn 93 this year, as well). On October 11th, Bush will have lived longer than Reagan, and he will break Gerald Ford’s record as the longest-living President in American history on November 25th. He was 17 years old and attending the elite Philips Academy boarding school in Andover, Massachusetts when Pearl Harbor was bombed on December 7, 1941. As Bush and many of his fellow well-to-do classmates prepared to graduate in 1942, President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson gave a commencement address urging the patrician prep school grads to go to college first rather than to enlist in the war. Four days after graduating, Bush turned 18 years old and immediately enlisted in the United States Navy.

With the influence of his father, Bush could have found himself in any number of safe, stateside jobs in the service. Instead, he became the Navy’s youngest fighter pilot. Even before being shot down over Chichi Jima, Bush had experienced the rough landings of flight training and ravages of war. During training, he totaled a plane during a crash landing. In June 1944, he was forced to ditch his plane – fully-loaded with bombs – in the sea during a mission, escaped the plane just before it exploded, and had to be rescued by the USS Bronson. By the war’s end, Bush had flown 58 combat missions during 1,228 hours of total flight time. There were 14 pilots who originally formed Bush’s VT-51 torpedo bomber flight squadron; when he was discharged from the service in September 1945, only Bush and three other pilots from that squadron survived.

Yet, it wasn’t what he saw that haunted George H.W. Bush – indeed, what haunts him still today. It was what he didn’t see as he parachuted out of the burning wreckage of his TBM Avenger on September 2, 1944. Or who he didn’t see.

•••

As Bush prepared to bomb Chichi Jima that morning, he was joined by two crew members in his TBM Avenger, tailgunner Ted White and radioman John Delaney. At 26, White was a few years older than Bush, but their fathers had been classmates at Yale, which created an obvious connection between the two young men aboard the San Jacinto. White wasn’t a normal member of Bush’s crew but, that morning, requested that he be allowed to replace Bush’s regular tailgunner, Leo Nadeau, and received permission.

When their plane was hit, Bush did all he could to order his two crew members to bail out of the plane and assist them in doing so, but the black smoke and flames tearing through the aircraft made it impossible for the pilot to see if White and Delaney had indeed exited the plane. Not only had Bush turned the badly-damaged plane out towards the sea, but he dipped the wings to make it easier for the crew members to pop open their door on the left side of the aircraft and bail out. By doing this, Bush cost himself some precious time and made his own exit from the Avenger more difficult – perhaps the reason he slammed against the tail of the aircraft as he parachuted out.

Other American pilots in Bush’s squadron that morning said that they noticed two parachutes deploy from Bush’s Avenger. As Bush plummeted towards the Pacific Ocean, he scanned the sky for the chutes of Delaney and White, but saw neither. As he paddled with one hand in his life raft to get as far away from the coast of Chichi Jima as possible, Bush continued to search the sky and the sea for his crewmates. But it was to no avail. John Delaney and Ted White were never found. If one of the two men did bail out of the plane with Bush and deploy his parachute, he was immediately lost and the same pilots overhead that radioed Bush’s position to the Finback never located him. The other man most likely went down with the crippled TBM Avenger.

Nearly 60 years later, when Bush’s son had also been elected President of the United States, Bush visited the Bonin Islands and spoke to CNN about his ordeal. With all of the experiences of his life – all of the triumphs and tragedies – it was the loss of Ted White and John Delaney which continued to weigh heavily on George H.W. Bush. “I wake up at night and think about it sometimes,” the former President told CNN, “Could I have done something differently? I’m not haunted by anything other than the fact I feel a responsibility for the lives of the two people that were killed. I wonder if I could have done something different? I wonder who got out of the plane? I wonder – wonder why the chute didn’t open for the other guy? Why me? Why am I blessed? Why am I still alive? That has plagued me.”

How much did it plague George H.W. Bush? When the author and historian James Bradley interviewed the former President about his story for Bradley’s 2003 book Flyboys: A True Story of Courage (BOOK | KINDLE), Bush startled Bradley by asking the author if he had any new information about the fates of John Delaney and Ted White.

•••

When the Finback surfaced and fished George Herbert Walker Bush out of the sea, the submariners treated him for his wounds, fed him, gave him new clothes to wear, and he became a part of the Finback crew – an honorary submariner – for the next month, as the submarine continued its mission, patrolling hot spots in the Pacific Theater just in case another downed pilot required rescue.

Everything was still raw when the future President sat down the next day at a typewriter on the Finback and pecked out a letter to his parents back home in Connecticut. It is the testament of a 20-year-old man born with all of the advantages in the world, sharing his story with his parents and letting them know how the war had touched him…and how it could easily touch them:

Dear Mother and Dad,

This will be the first letter you have gotten from me in a good long while. I wish I could tell you that as I write this I am feeling well and happy. Physically I am O.K., but I am troubled inside and with good cause. Here is the whole story at least as much of it as I am allowed to relate right now.

Yesterday was a day which will long stand in my memory. I was on a bombing hop with Delaney as my radioman and Lt. (j.g.) Ted White as my gunner. He did not usually fly, but I asked him if he would like to go with me and he wanted to. We had the usual joking around in the ready room about having to bail out etc. – at that time it all seemed so friendly and innocent but now it seems awful and sinister.

I will have to skip all the details of the attack as they would not pass the censorship, but the fact remains that we got hit. The cockpit filled with smoke and I told the boys in back to get their parachutes on. They didn’t answer at all, but I looked around and couldn’t see Ted in the turret so I assumed he had gone below to get his chute fastened on. I headed the plane out to sea and put on the throttle so as we could get away from the land as much as possible. I am not too clear about the next parts. I told them to bail out, and then I called up the skipper and told him I was bailing out. My crewmen never acknowledged either transmission, and yet the radio gear was working – at least mine was and unless they had been hit back there theirs should have been, as we had talked not long before. I heard the skipper say something but things were happening so fast that I don’t quite remember what it was. I turned the plane up in an attitude so as to take pressure off the back hatch so the boys could get out. After that I straightened up and started to get out myself. At that time I felt certain that they had bailed out. The cockpit was full of smoke and I was choking from it. I glanced at the wings and noticed that they were on fire. I still do not know where we got hit and never will. I am now beginning to think that perhaps some of the fragments may have either killed the two in back, or possibly knocked out their communications.

Fortunately I had fastened all my straps before the dive and also I had left my hatch open, something I hadn’t been doing before. Just the day before I had asked the skipper and he advised leaving it open in a dive. The jump itself wasn’t too bad. I stuck my head out first and the old wind really blew me the rest of the way out. I do remember tugging at my radio cord which I had forgotten to unplug. As I left the plane my head struck the tail. I now have a cut head and bruised eye but it is far from serious. After jumping, I must have pulled the ripcord too soon for when I was floating down, I looked up at the canopy and several of the panels were all ripped out. Just as I got floating down, I saw the plane strike the water. In the meantime, I noticed that there was a liferaft down in the water. Not until later did I discover that it was mine that was supposed to be attached to my lifejacket. I had forgotten to hook it on, and when I left the plane it had come loose and had fallen into the water. Fortunately, the wind didn’t carry me too far away from the raft. The entrance into the water was not too bad. I had unloosened several of my chute straps so that when it came to getting out of the harness I wouldn’t have too many buckles to undo under the water. I went fairly deep when I hit, but not deep enough to notice any pressure or anything. I shook the harness and the wind carried the chute away on the water. The wind was blowing towards shore, so I made every effort to head the other way. The skipper saw me and he saw my raft, so he made a pass over it to point it out to me. I had inflated my mae west [sailors called their inflatable yellow life vests “Mae Wests”] and then started swimming towards the raft. Fortunately, the fall hadn’t injured the boat, so it inflated easily and I struggled into it. I then realized that I had overexerted myself swimming, because suddenly I felt quite tired. I was still afraid that the wind would take me in closer so I began paddling. It was a hell of a job to keep the water out of the raft. In fact I never did get it bailed out completely. At first I was scared that perhaps a boat would put out from shore which was very close by, but I guess our planes made them think twice about that. A few fighter planes stayed nearby the whole time until I was rescued and you can imagine how comfortable that was. One of them came right over me and dropped me some medical supplies which were most welcome, since I had no idea how badly cut up I was. It turned out to be slight, but did use the iodine anyway. I had some dye marker attached to my life jacket and also there was some in the raft so I sprinkled a bit of that on the water so the planes could see me easily. I took inventory of my supplies and discovered that I had no water. The water had broken open when the raft fell from the plane I imagine. I had a mirror and some other equipment, and also was wearing my own gun and knife.

There was no sign of Del or Ted anywhere around. I looked as I floated down and afterwards kept my eye open from the raft, but to no avail. The fact that our planes didn’t seem to be searching anymore showed me pretty clearly that they had not gotten out. I’m afraid I was pretty much of a sissy about it cause I sat in my raft and sobbed for awhile. It bothers me so very much. I did tell them and when I bailed out I felt that they must have gone, and yet now I feel so terribly responsible for their fate, Oh so much right now. Perhaps as the days go by it will all change and I will be able to look upon it in a different light.

I floated around for a couple of hours during which time I was violently sick to my stomach, and then the planes started zooming me, pointing out my position to my rescuers. You can imagine how happy I was when I saw this submarine hove into view. They pulled me out of the raft and took me below where they fixed me up in grand style. As I write this I am aboard the sub – don’t know how long I will be here, or when I will get back to the squadron.

As I said physically I am o.k. The food aboard here is unequaled anywhere I have ever seen. I am getting plenty of sleep and am even standing watches so that I will get the air occasionally. My back ached as did my leg last nite, and also my seat was a bit sore from the chute straps, but the pharmacist mate rubbed me down and today I feel much better. Last nite I rolled and tossed. I kept reliving the whole experience. My heart aches for the families of those two boys with me. Delaney had always been a fine loyal crewman. His devotion to duty was at all times highly commendable and his personality most pleasing. I shall most certainly write to his family after I am sure they have been notified by the Bureau.

As for Ted White, I have spoken of him several times in my letters before. He was the fellow from Yale, one class ahead of Stu Clement [Bush’s first cousin]. He comes from St. Paul Minn. White Bear Lake to be exact. Perhaps Dad, you know the family. If so do not write them until you get the word from me or elsewhere that the family has been officially notified. There is a possibility that they parachuted and I didn’t see them, but I am afraid it is quite remote as we received a message aboard here last nite saying that only one chute opened. All in all it is terribly discouraging and frankly it bothers me a good deal.

As time goes by I shall add bits to this letter and will mail it at my earliest possible convenience. I shall do the same by Bar, but shall not go into detail like this over my experience so please read her the parts of the letter which might interest her. It’s a funny thing how much I thought about Bar during the whole experience. What I wouldn’t give to be with her right now. Just to see that lovely face and those beautiful eyes and to know she was by my side. Right now I long to be with you so much. To be with you both and to be with Bar is my main desire – at least it won’t be too long, the time is going by quite rapidly.

Please excuse all my misspellings – they are caused not from ignorance but from carelessness in operating this machine.

much much love to you all, your ever devoted and loving son, Pop

••• As he celebrates his 93rd birthday, George Herbert Walker Bush has been many things to many people, and has done so much for so many more.

During the Vietnam War, Creedence Clearwater Revival’s song “Fortunate Son” sang: “It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no Senator’s son/It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate one, no.”

Not too long after World War II, George H.W. Bush was a Senator’s son – his father Prescott was elected to the U.S. Senate from Connecticut. Later, George Bush blazed his own trail. Oilman. U.S. Representative from Texas. An unsuccessful candidate for the U.S. Senate from Texas (famously encouraged by the Texas Democrat and President Lyndon B. Johnson that the difference between the House and the Senate was the difference between “chicken shit and chicken salad”). U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations. Chairman of the Republican National Committee. Chief U.S. Liaison in China. CIA Director. Vice President of the United States under Ronald Reagan. President of the United States (“41”). Father of one Governor and President (“43”) and another Governor who was once considered a top candidate to become “45″.

But before everything – George Herbert Walker Bush was a war hero. And he was a war hero because of his love, honor, and duty to his country.

Just don’t ask George Bush if he was a war hero.

“It was just part of my duty. People say ‘war hero’. How come a guy who gets his airplane shot down is a hero and a guy who’s good enough that he doesn’t get shot down is not? Ask [John F.] Kennedy about it, why are you a hero? 'They sank my boat.’ Why am I a hero? They shot down my airplane.”