I lived with my maternal Grandparents until I was 12. I loved both of them DEARLY, looking past the fact that my Grand-dad was a bit of a grumpy. As a small child, I knew that he had been in the Army and I knew that he had fought in the Korean war. I personally don't remember him ever talking about his experiences but I do know that, of our family members, he would discuss that time in his life with his son. My Grandmother said they would sit together in the room we called "the library" (floor to ceiling built-in, crammed full with books, appropriately named I'd say) for hours upon end. My Uncle inherited the majority of the memories of my Grand-dad's war experience and how it affected our family; and he cherishes those memories to this day.
BUT, dear Uncle wasn't the only one that made it out with memories...I managed to snag a couple of my own; one not so happy and one simply wonderful.
The not-so-happy memory revolves around an ice-cream bowl and spoon. You see, Grand-dad not only fought in the war; he was shot in the knee, listed as MIA, then presumed dead and later discovered as a POW. During his imprisonment one of the ways his captors tortured him was to enclose him in a metal box that was just large enough for him to sit with his knees to his chest and bang and scrape on the metal box for hours upon hours at a time. When this story was told to me in my teenage years it made me realize, for the first time, that I had always eaten my dessert in another room when I was little. You see, I was a child VERY dedicated to ice-cream and I refused to leave even the tiniest melted bit in the bowl. My overzealous scraping of the ice-cream bowl was a trigger for my Grandfather, understandably so. Though I can't recall him ever reacting to my dessert mutilation, there was obviously one evening that I was gently banished to another part of the house whenever the time came for me and my ice-cream to have a tete-a-tete. As a child, I didn't think anything of it, in fact, I thought it was an extra treat because I got to watch t.v. while enjoying my sweet. The reasoning behind the ice-cream routine coming full circle caused me to view and respect my Grand-dad's service and sacrifice in a whole new way. Growing up, I respected his Soldier/Veteran status because I was told to. I didn't grasp WHAT it meant to be a Veteran...until I understood the reasoning behind my ice-cream isolation.
What strength and iron will Veterans must posses to recover from the experience of war. They ones that are blessed with the ability to come home return a different person. A changed individual working every moment in the following days to return to their life and the person they were before their deployment. They must jump from fighting a war within another country to fighting a war within themselves. Those of us that remain safe and secure back home, reaping the benefit of freedom ONLY attained through the sacrifice of Veterans and Soldiers, have a job as well. Our job is to respect, support, appreciate and cherish this GIFT our nation's Veterans are protecting for us. We must support them and be compassionate and considerate of their road to recovery; remembering that all of their strength required to try and re-enter their pre-war life can be momentarily broken by something as harmless as a child with a bowl of ice-cream.
Yet, on the flip side, Grand-dad found some healing by using his battle wounds for a bit of humor while engaging the imagination of a small girl. Grand-dad always used to say to me, "See ya later alligator" and I would, of course, come right back with, "After while crocodile." He loved it! Well, his bullet wounds left him with 2 round scars side by side, on either side of his knee and at night, when he would walk around in his jammies (a.k.a undershirt and boxer shorts with a bathrobe) he would point to his knee and say, "Miranda, ya know what happened here??" Though I was fully aware that they were bullet scars from his time serving our country, I couldn't help but giggle as I knew what was coming. This was a regular and beloved exchange between just the two of us. He would look at me with that mischievous grin I am convinced only grandfathers (even grumpy ones) are able to create, and say, "An alligator bit me!" and I would respond with an overly-dramatic, "GASP!!" Overjoyed with our silly game, we would share a hearty laugh over our cleverness, then Grand-dad would gently chuck my chin and wink before walking away whistling with a twinkle in his eye and a bounce in his step. And that is exactly how I choose to remember my grumpy Grand-dad; the Korean War Veteran.
