When I was little, I didn’t know my paternal grandfather well. He would always hug and kiss me on the cheek when I would come bounding through his door, but he was quiet and reserved. He never told me much about himself or where life had taken him, but a lack of curiosity has never been a personality trait of mine. What I did learn about him, I acquired through stories from my dad, which I soaked up like I imagine the Sahara soaks up water after a long drought. Through my dad, I came to know that my grandpa was a well-known drummer throughout the southeast of Kansas, he had a love for cats, he worked at a cement company for many years, he loved my grandmother dearly, and he served our country in the Navy during WWII.
As I got older, I desired to know more about my grandfathers. Both of my grandfathers served during WWII and for most of my life, they were tight-lipped about anything having to do with their “time over there.” I craved to hear about their service. I wasn’t seeking stories of death and destruction, but I wanted to know them as young men. I wanted to know my heroes. It is important for me to hear the stories of those that sacrificed for this country, because I owe them, if nothing more, my gratitude.
I have always felt extremely patriotic. The national anthem moves me to tears every time I hear it. Goosebumps pucker my skin when I see our awesome air power take to the sky. Emotions overwhelm me when I hear stories from soldiers that have fought to defend our country and its freedom. And the day I pinned my husband on as a lieutenant in the United States Air Force, I felt honored to be a military spouse. The odd thing is, is that my family never really brought up the military while I was growing up. Yes, I knew that my grandfathers had served, but that was the extent to what was discussed. I didn’t know their stories, where they served, or how it had made them who they are today. My grandfathers are a product of The Greatest Generation. You didn’t wallow in your pain. You pulled up the boot straps and got on with your life. There was no talking about what went on “across the pond” and I can respect that. That is one of the reasons that I never prodded them for tales of war time heroics. But, when I got into my late teens and twenties, something changed…my grandfathers started to talk…and I was ready to listen.
My mother’s father was the first to open up about his time served in the Army. He was in the European Theater and the stories he told fascinated me every time I heard them. My Grandpa Kendall, my dad’s father, took a little longer to release his experiences. In a way, I think both of them felt they needed to release the memories they’d locked away. They needed to give it to someone else, so they didn’t have to carry it all by themselves anymore.
Some time ago, my aunt sent me old black and white pictures of my grandfather in his Navy years. He was so handsome in his white or black Navy uniform. Sometimes, I find myself staring at the picture and quietly asking my grandfather, “What were you like as a young man?” Of course, the picture never answers back, but my eagerness to learn more about my grandpa has never gone away.
While visiting my grandparents many years ago, my grandfather decided to enlightened us with stories–insights into his life as a young seaman. My ;aternal grandfather served on the USS Jackson. I had never known this and instantly I was intrigued as to what life was like on the high seas. My grandfather said, “Pretty soon, after being on the ocean for as long as you are, you forget you are even on a ship.” This particular afternoon, my dad, my husband, and I found out that my grandfather was a LCVP driver. If you have ever seen the movies where the small boats are carrying the soldiers to storm the beaches of Iwo Jima, my grandfather was involved in those actual events. My grandpa would transport soldiers from their ships and beach them on the treacherous shores. After dropping off one load of brave men, back he would go to get more, many of them who would never have a return ride.
I cannot imagine the fear. I cannot imagine riding across those waves knowing that once my boots touched the sand my life could be over–just like that. To be fighting an unseen enemy that is waiting like a snake in the reeds, seems truly terrifying. My grandfather wasn’t apart of some movie that we watch for entertainment. No, he was there. He felt the real waves, he saw the faces of those fear-stricken soldiers as he drove them across the Pacific, he saw Iwo Jima in front of him, heard the gun fire, saw the mortars go off right next to him, and experienced the death of his comrades.
Through his stories that day, I learned something that will forever amaze me. I have seen in pictures and movies the famous statue of the Marines lifting the flag on Iwo Jima. Until recently, I never knew the full story surrounding that statue. Even without knowing the background, that statue moves me with swells of patriotism. The raising of that flag was one of our countries proudest moments and one that will be talked about for generations.
Incredibly, my grandpa saw the raising of that flag. My hero watched those brave heroes raise our flag in victory. What a remarkable thing to know my grandfather was witness to such a historical event. And he witnessed it, standing on his ship, next to a chaplain, as they swapped a spyglass back and forth. Over sixties years ago, out on the ocean in the throws of war, my hero caught a glimpse of history through a spyglass. The thought just overwhelms me.
I will never know all the stories, but I am thankful for the ones that I heard. My grandfathers are no longer here on earth and I miss them both very much. It is important for me to know where I came from and what the people who molded my life were like before I was a twinkle in anyone’s eye. These stories give the present day me, a connection with the past, something that I feel is necessary in order to have a positive future.
In my military room in my house, I have pictures of my grandfathers in their military uniforms hanging on the wall. I pass by them every day and sometimes I just stop and take a moment to think about them and what they did for my families and our country. I was born with an inborn pride for my grandfathers, which grew for reasons I didn’t even understand myself. But, now, I have a glimpse at who my grandfathers were and I am honored, blessed, and grateful to be their granddaughter.
To all those who have served or are serving, may God bless you always.
