June 8, 1944
What in the world was happening on Thursday, June 8, 1944?
US Forces were advancing quickly on the now disintegrated German front in Normandy, France. 11,000 allied airplanes (including bombers) had scorched their way into the waiting German divisions eventually opening holes large enough to allow the US infantry & artillery to make key strongholds after the invasion on the beachheads at Juno, Gold, Sword, Utah and Omaha. Two days prior, the largest military assault on a sovereign nation took place. 180,000 men came across the English Channel to fight for freedom and to expunge Evil laying in wait on the French cliffs overhead. Ships in the English Channel were so numerous that one Admiral exclaimed that the US armed forces could "walk across without getting their feet wet".
And in tiny little Waco, TX., a son - David Michael, was born to Carmack (Mack) and Martha (Marty) Stirman. The third child in the (now) family of five came screaming into the world on D-Day + 2. His parents, poor as church mice, were I'm sure wondering how they would feed this child in the midst of a war torn world were rationing of every sort was the order of the day. (It was widely reported in newspapers across the country this day that "Nylon" was added to the list of items that only the Military was able to procure. Ladies everywhere were in mourning for their hosiery and massive hoarding ensued!)
Perhaps the birth of one little boy in Waco, TX during the world's largest military conflict isn't worth mentioning, but then again- that act is significant for me and my brother. For without that birth, we wouldn't be living in this world today as sons of a fine man who instilled in us the meaning of compassion, dignity, honor and respect. Whose life exemplifies these attributes every day and is treated with great respect everywhere he goes. I still marvel at those who years earlier sat at his feet during his teaching days and who, in my presence, still call him "Mr. Stirman" even though they have reached a mature, adult age and have families of their own. (Guy Fowler, age 45, for one!)
Mike Stirman is a man who is at once engaging, friendly, caring, loving and devoted to both family and friends. There is no doubt about his personal motivation- it is to serve God with all his heart. When people casually use the word "servant" I think of images from my past where my Dad helped somebody. It could have been replacing a flat tire, inviting them to our home for a meal, or just simply to sit and visit - and at times, pray for whatever they needed. My Dad is like that.
Dad didn't raise his voice to bolster his opinion on matters, yet he was firm and resolute when he had to be. Occasionally he employed the "right hand of fellowship" to my backside in order to get my stubborn brain to realize that what Dad's says, goes! But I never feared him physically. His compassion for his children was as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon and we knew that our home was safe, loving and a place where fear didn't exist. Many families today don't have this incredible heritage or that wonderful luxury. I'm fortunate to have grown up in Mike Stirman's home!
There are many things in my genetic make-up that I inherited from my Father. My hair color, build, facial features. Many are the times when his friends would comment on how much I looked like my dad. Even as a young kid, that always impressed me for some reason. I wanted to look like him, I wanted to be him. He is a great guy, he is my hero. Who wouldn't want to look like their hero? My wife says that my mannerisms and "looks" are just like his. Not my physical countenance, but those quirky little glances that people give during certain situations- like when the kids really mess up or when I'm surprised at an outcome. My eyebrows arch in that classic Stirman gaze that seems to penetrate reinforced concrete. But of all the things physical that remind me of whose I am, they are not as important as what this man represents.
It is my wish, on his 63rd birthday today, that when I reach his age- I, too, will have the same reputation and regard for my family and friends and that my own children will respect me with the same dignity that is afforded a father who exemplifies justice, loves kindness and walks humbly with his God. You are the greatest Dad any boy could ever hope to have and if I could do life all over again- I would pick you any day of the week and twice on Sunday!
Happy Birthday, Pop! May you have many, many more and may your sons follow your trail in the well worn paths forged by your steps!
We love you!!
-TMS
On the Western Front... A second wave of Allied troops has landed. Elements of the US 7th Corps, from Utah beach, advance toward Cherbourg. The 4th Division engages in heavy fighting near Azeville. Elements of the US 5th Corps, on Omaha beach, capture Isigny but cannot establish a link with the American forces on Utah. A link is established between Omaha and Gold beach once British Marines, part of the 30th Corps, take Port-en-Bessin.
In Italy... German rearguards slow the advance of the US 5th Army and British 8th Army.
US Forces were advancing quickly on the now disintegrated German front in Normandy, France. 11,000 allied airplanes (including bombers) had scorched their way into the waiting German divisions eventually opening holes large enough to allow the US infantry & artillery to make key strongholds after the invasion on the beachheads at Juno, Gold, Sword, Utah and Omaha. Two days prior, the largest military assault on a sovereign nation took place. 180,000 men came across the English Channel to fight for freedom and to expunge Evil laying in wait on the French cliffs overhead. Ships in the English Channel were so numerous that one Admiral exclaimed that the US armed forces could "walk across without getting their feet wet".
And in tiny little Waco, TX., a son - David Michael, was born to Carmack (Mack) and Martha (Marty) Stirman. The third child in the (now) family of five came screaming into the world on D-Day + 2. His parents, poor as church mice, were I'm sure wondering how they would feed this child in the midst of a war torn world were rationing of every sort was the order of the day. (It was widely reported in newspapers across the country this day that "Nylon" was added to the list of items that only the Military was able to procure. Ladies everywhere were in mourning for their hosiery and massive hoarding ensued!)
Perhaps the birth of one little boy in Waco, TX during the world's largest military conflict isn't worth mentioning, but then again- that act is significant for me and my brother. For without that birth, we wouldn't be living in this world today as sons of a fine man who instilled in us the meaning of compassion, dignity, honor and respect. Whose life exemplifies these attributes every day and is treated with great respect everywhere he goes. I still marvel at those who years earlier sat at his feet during his teaching days and who, in my presence, still call him "Mr. Stirman" even though they have reached a mature, adult age and have families of their own. (Guy Fowler, age 45, for one!)
Mike Stirman is a man who is at once engaging, friendly, caring, loving and devoted to both family and friends. There is no doubt about his personal motivation- it is to serve God with all his heart. When people casually use the word "servant" I think of images from my past where my Dad helped somebody. It could have been replacing a flat tire, inviting them to our home for a meal, or just simply to sit and visit - and at times, pray for whatever they needed. My Dad is like that.
Dad didn't raise his voice to bolster his opinion on matters, yet he was firm and resolute when he had to be. Occasionally he employed the "right hand of fellowship" to my backside in order to get my stubborn brain to realize that what Dad's says, goes! But I never feared him physically. His compassion for his children was as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon and we knew that our home was safe, loving and a place where fear didn't exist. Many families today don't have this incredible heritage or that wonderful luxury. I'm fortunate to have grown up in Mike Stirman's home!
There are many things in my genetic make-up that I inherited from my Father. My hair color, build, facial features. Many are the times when his friends would comment on how much I looked like my dad. Even as a young kid, that always impressed me for some reason. I wanted to look like him, I wanted to be him. He is a great guy, he is my hero. Who wouldn't want to look like their hero? My wife says that my mannerisms and "looks" are just like his. Not my physical countenance, but those quirky little glances that people give during certain situations- like when the kids really mess up or when I'm surprised at an outcome. My eyebrows arch in that classic Stirman gaze that seems to penetrate reinforced concrete. But of all the things physical that remind me of whose I am, they are not as important as what this man represents.
It is my wish, on his 63rd birthday today, that when I reach his age- I, too, will have the same reputation and regard for my family and friends and that my own children will respect me with the same dignity that is afforded a father who exemplifies justice, loves kindness and walks humbly with his God. You are the greatest Dad any boy could ever hope to have and if I could do life all over again- I would pick you any day of the week and twice on Sunday!
Happy Birthday, Pop! May you have many, many more and may your sons follow your trail in the well worn paths forged by your steps!
We love you!!
-TMS
posted by Troy M. Stirman | 7:45 AM
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