Andrew Ładak
Recently Americans observed Memorial Day, and soon they will celebrate Father’s Day. These two holidays are linked in my mind in way that probably has not occurred to most people. As a veteran, on Memorial Day my thoughts turn to the soldiers I served with and to those, including a few I knew personally, who died in America’s wars. But I also think of my father, a man whose experiences as a Polish Army officer helped make him an outstanding parent.
It has been my experience that leading soldiers has much in common with being a parent. Both are vocations, not merely jobs, and they share at least three important things: first, a passionate dedication to duty and an unflagging commitment to accomplishing the “mission,” whether that be seizing a military objective or preparing a child to navigate life successfully; second, an unwavering sense of personal responsibility for the well-being and security of one’s charges, whether soldiers or children; and, third, a profound emotional bond with those for whom one is responsible. Soldiers, of course, are not children but their fate, and often their life, rests in the hands of leaders who, by military law and custom, are responsible for everything the unit does (or fails to do). In the military that is ultimately an officer, and those who have been officers, especially in war, sometimes speak of the burden of command.

Chorąży (Officer Cadet) Marian Ładak before World War II
In 1939 my father went to war as an infantry second lieutenant (podporucznik piechoty). Exactly thirty years later I followed in his footsteps as an infantry officer in the U.S. Army, although by the time I landed in Vietnam I had made first lieutenant (porucznik). (Eventually I made captain, technically outranking my father.) In my case, as in his, I’m sure, the desire to lead soldiers was inspired by a sense of duty as well as a young man’s need to prove himself. For both of us, war was a life-changing experience, though more so for my father because his war and its consequences were incomparably harder, more intense and longer-lasting than anything I endured.

Marian Ładak and “Andrzejek,” Neumünster, Germany
My father and I both learned that good leadership is critical (especially, though not only, in the military) but we also learned how hard being a leader is and how crucial it is to be prepared, physically and mentally, for leadership. As officers, we learned that integrity, decisiveness, moral and physical courage, unwavering devotion to duty and a genuine concern for the troops were essential to earn the trust and unhesitating obedience of those whose lives were in our hands. And we learned to lead by example and to hide our own fears, because visible fear in a leader is contagious, often catastrophic.
We learned there are times to be firm and uncompromising in setting and enforcing standards, and times for compassion, flexibility and humor. We felt the pain of losing soldiers, but we also felt pride and satisfaction in helping them survive and succeed. We learned that few privileges in life are as rewarding as leading young soldiers, few sorrows as great as seeing them wounded or killed, and few joys as gratifying as having a mother or a wife say, “Thank you for bringing him home alive.”
You might ask, at this point, what all that has to do with being a good parent. If you think about it, many, perhaps most, of the lessons a leader learns in war can be adapted and applied in raising and guiding children. Only after I became a father myself, after having led soldiers in combat, did I fully realize how my father’s wartime experience helped make him the kind of parent he was. As I grow older, I like to think I was as good a leader and as good a parent as my father, but that’s a judgment for others make.
Earlier I mentioned that those of us who were blessed with the privilege and honor of leading soldiers in battle sometimes speak of the burden of command. The burden is real and heavy—and if you’ve borne it, you’re haunted by it for the rest of your life. In the following words I tried to capture the thoughts of those like myself, who look back on their experience with a mixture of affection for their soldiers and regret for having lost some of them.
The Burden of Command
Usually, when I think of them I’m by myself.
And sometimes when it’s late at night,
I slip the album from the shelf and then
I sit beneath the shaded light,
to turn the pages one by one
until I’m with them once again.
It still seems strange that, unlike me,
they haven’t changed…
their boyish faces tanned and thin,
their wiry frames and tousled hair.
Too young to die, they strike brave poses,
squinting at me in the sun
with goofy grins and fingers flashing me a V,
as if they didn’t have a care.
I touch their pictures one more time
with almost fatherly regret,
to let them know that I’m
still here, that even after all the years
I won’t forget.
If I look closely at their eyes
I see the hopeful trust
that used to fill me with such pride,
before it died and turned to dust.
I sense the fear they tried to hide.
It was a fear that I knew well
but couldn’t show.
And so I smile back at them,
just like I did so long ago
to calm the tremors in their souls
before I led them into hell.
I wonder, too, what might have been
had those young men,
the boys I’d give my life to save,
not died instead
because of my decisions
and the orders that I gave.
I think of them a lot.
I loved them and they trusted me.
But in the end… I lived
Andrew Ladak
Featured Image: Ladak-Second-Lieutenant-Andrew-Ladak-1969