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Bracing myself in my dress blue uniform, I stepped down, kissed each of the females in turn and shook hands with Mr. Spurlin. Introducing myself, I explained that I was the naval escort of their son Steven and expressed as well as I could the U.S. Navy’s sympathy and regret. I had expected some bitterness from the parents toward the Navy and toward me as its personification at hand. But from that moment on, you would have thought that I was the Spurlins’ son myself and that they were more concerned to ease my problems on this assignment than I was to ease theirs. Of course, I was to stay with them.
After all of the mental turmoil coming down, these wonderful people soon made me feel as though I had known them all of my life and proved to me and all around them that they understood the true and inner meaning of Christmas itself — and how to cope with it under stress, with grace.
Soon after we got “home” and the family had informed me of the funeral arrangements for the next day, Mr. Spurlin invited me to take a walk with him, explaining when we were outside that he knew it would be uncomfortable for me to stay around the bereaved ladies all day. (For my part, I was beginning to compare their dignified composure favorably with the calm conduct of the mothers and wives of ancient Sparta, of whom I had read, when their fallen sons and husbands were
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