Just a thought: Ties to the great invasion

(Editor’s Note: The following is a reprint of a column from the June 6, 1994, edition of The Ville Platte Gazette.)
What ties do this 26-year-old kid have to D-Day (June 6, 1944)?
Surprisingly, many!
No matter how many times I speak to my grandparents it never ceases to amaze me how much I learn. Children, forget your history books - just speak to your grandparents!
Just joking, teachers!
On Monday, I had lunch with my paternal grandparents, Raymond and Dunice Guillory. After retiring to the living room for a little TV break before returning to work, I flipped to CNN, who dedicated a lion’s share of its coverage to the 50th anniversary of the Allied Troops’ invasion at Normandy, France.
After washing the dishes, Maw Maw Dunice joined me by the TV for a little visit. “Oh, today’s the anniversary of D-Day. You know Paw Paw’s brother died on D-Day,” she began.
“Really?” I asked.
My grandfather, the oldest of eight kids, had two full brothers and five half-brothers and sisters. His younger brothers, Francis, nicknamed “Brother,” and Herbert, nicknamed “Blackie,” are both deceased.
Paw Paw Raymond was exempt from the draft because he was a farmer. “Blackie” was all ready to go when the war ended.
“Brother,” who served as an aircraft mechanic in the war, wasn’t as lucky. He, along with eight other aircraft mechanics, were headed from England to France on D-Day when their plane was shot down. All were killed.
My grandmother was five months pregnant with my father, Johnny, at the time. “Brother” was married, but had no children. As a tribute to him, my grandparents named my father, John Francis Guillory.
Ironically, my dad, nicknamed “Pee Wee,” was a war veteran, serving in Vietnam. He died in 1973.
Two Francis Guillorys. Two decorated veterans. Both good Christians. Both died before their time.
What does D-Day mean to this 26-year-old kid?
More than you will ever know!