Remembering on Memorial Day

I have been enjoying this Memorial Weekend Holiday in the great outdoors with my daughter hiking trails, fishing, swimming, crafting and watching Leave It to Beaver re-runs.  I had a little time to organize my filing system and came across a picture of my dear Grandpa Jack. He's sitting on a trike in his  Army uniform looking like he's ready for some adventure.

The picture got me thinking about the reason why we celebrate Memorial Day. It is so easy to plan outings and barbeque's and focus on fun without even giving second thought to what the Holiday represents, this can especially be easy to forget for the civilian population. Memorial Day is about those that died while in service to their nation; quite sobering when you begin to think about what that really means. Thankfully, my Grandfather didn't die in his service during World War II and I have wonderful memories of him that I enjoy sharing with other family members.

So many things flood my mind as I write about remembering the service men that gave the ultimate sacrifice. It makes the words, 'thank you' seem so cheap. I think the best way we can celebrate this historic National Holiday is to talk and listen. What an honor to be able to listen to the stories of those that gave the ultimate price. Somehow the story is what keeps the sacrifice real. Maybe this is one reason why I love World War II history (besides letting a little of my Dad's passion rub off on me). I know we don't necessarily have the opportunity to discuss intimate details of life and death one on one with families that have experienced the loss of their son or daughter, so I suggest the next closest thing; pick up a Historical Biography of one of your favorite era's ( recent and ancient history are fraught with examples) and read the amazing true stories of real people fighting for freedom.

If you don't know where to begin, I have some suggestions for you...
1. Unbroken, by Laura Hillibrand
    World War II Airforce.

2. Fly Boys: A True Story of Courage, by James Bradley
     Covers the Pacific Theatre in World War II.

3. Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and The Lost Heroes of Seal Team 10, by Marcus Lutrell
    Afghanistan Theatre

Since the picture of my Grandpa in uniform inspired this post, I'd like to remember him by keeping the 'story' flame alive. I'm going to share a memory of my late Grandpa Jack, although not related to his service this story does give a picture of a man full of vibrant independence; or maybe better labeled, a rebellious streak.

I was eight years old and was fond of riding in my grandparents car when our large extended family caravaned from one place to another. This particular ride was on a Sunday. We were let out of church services and were heading down Wadsworth Boulevard in Grandpa Jack's sparkly, emerald green Buick with matching green fabric interior.

I was nestled in between Grandma El's yellow, damask back pillow and some Bibles on the seat meant for me to hold so they wouldn't fly all over the backseat. In these days, wearing a seat belt was pretty much optional, although buckle up billboards were cropping up everywhere. We lived by the seat of our pants in those days and none of us payed attention to the life saving warning.

Now Grandpa Jack was also known as Lead Foot Jack by friends and family. Speed limit signs were only suggestions, and even a red light or two fell under that category. We all agreed after careful consensus that he must have Angel's specifically posted on his bumpers because with his carefree, "what is this rear view mirror for" driving style and no incidents, that was the only logical conclusion one could come to.

We were probably clipping a good 55 down a 40 mile per hour lane when the sirens of a police car blared in our ears. Jack kept going through the intersection of Alameda and Wadsworth without slowing. I said, "Grandpa, don't you hear the police siren? I think you better pull over."

He retorted, " AA!" with a wave of his hand. Only when El piped in with a June Cleaver calm demeanor did Jack slow down and pull over.

The protocol commenced and the police officer in professional fashion asked, " Did you know how fast you were going, and may I see your license and registration?" My grandpa handed the paperwork over and watched silently as the officer went back to his car to log his information down.

The officer closed his car door and that's when my Grandpa turned his car on and took off like a bat out of hell, in disbelief I scolded," Grandpa, he has your license, you can't do that, it's breaking the law."

He retorted with his signature, "AA", and hand swipe.

I think Grandpa may have run a red light to make it to his hideout, but I'll never know because I had my head hidden under Grandma's back pillow the rest of the way home.

If you have any stories to share about your family whether they served or not, I'd love to 'hear' them.



 

Grandpa Jack Koch, Armed Forces, World War II, stationed in Hawaii

"History is nothing but a series of stories, whether it be world history or family history."
Bill Mooney and David Holt, The Storyteller’s Guide.