Last week I suffered the loss of a dear member of my family — my grandfather. While his accomplishments in life were not broadcast on the nightly news or printed in the daily papers, his life meant a lot to our family. He always had a sparkle in his eyes and always something quick witted (never mean spirited) to say to anyone who walked in the door. And while those memories are common across all members of the family, I also had my own special relationship with him that I will always cherish.
My grandfather grew up in a much different time. It was a time when this nation suffered in the grips of the Great Depression. That time, I think, shaped him to become very frugal with his money while always remembering that his first priority was to provide for his family. As a young lad he went to work anywhere he could to help his dad support the family at home. Sometimes they didn’t even have a roof over their heads, and when they did they shared their own roofs with others who were not so fortunate. He talked about this time with me and, in reflection now, no one else.
When the depression was over the nation was drawn into the second World War, and so into battle he went. He talked to me about the war more so than he did to other family members. He talked about his memories of fighting in Africa, of suffering from Malaria and of watching good friends not come home. He talked about watching one soldier die as he walked into the spinning propeller blades of an airplane, and of others who did not return from routine marches into combat.
Those events shaped his life, his values, and his personality. You never had to guess where his political views lied, not because he yelled it or ran around telling people, you just knew by his values that he was a Democrat.