The celebration of Veteran's Day brings up a great many memories for people all around the United States. It goes without saying that the lives of all Americans have been affected by veterans of this country. So many people have given and continue to give so completely freely of themselves for the benefit of their fellow citizens, knowing that in doing so they may also give their lives. The very thought of that kind of bravery fills my heart with love and my eyes with tears. I have no idea where people find that kind of selflessness, but it is amazing.
In my family, there are many veterans. I suppose I could say that my family, quite literally, was created by veterans. My dad's mother's father was a colonel in the Army. My dad's father was a Marine. My dad was in the Navy. My baby brother was in the Coast Guard. On my mother's side, is a special story that Veteran's Day always makes me recall and cherish a little more. I couldn't begin to write of it on November 11th, as the memory of these two people still makes me cry a little, and I'm afraid that all of the tears may have ruined the keyboard.
My Popa, born and bred in the mill village of Olympia in downtown Columbia, SC, was a remarkable athlete in high school. He never lent himself to studying much because his passion was sports. He was a stellar catcher on his high school baseball team, and before he graduated, he was offered a contract with the Detroit Tigers to play ball in the big leagues. I could say his first love was baseball, but that wouldn't be completely true. His heart belonged to his country, and so he delayed his plans to follow his dream in exchange for signing up for the Army of the Red, White, and Blue.
As way leads on to way, my Popa's road in life would change, and the outcomes that he had anticipated would fade from his view in more ways than one. His job in the Army was to lead a troop of soldiers disengaging mine fields. He travelled from Fort Jackson to Africa to Italy to the beaches of Anzio, and it was in France where life threw him a curve ball that he could never have imagined. On Thanksgiving Day in 1942, when his batallion was called out into a mine field to rescue a medic, his world literally exploded around him when someone from his group tripped the mines. The only survivors were my Popa and the medic who my Popa jumped atop to shield from the flying shrapnel.
Popa lived, but the awful result was the death of his vision. He nearly lost the limbs on the left side of his body to gangrene, but he insisted he needed his arm and leg to play his beloved sport...this, of course, was before he realized that his eyes had, horrifically, been blown out of their sockets. Reluctantly, the doctors agreed to try the new drug, penicillin, and he was a fortunate soldier of the Allied Forces to avoid amputation at a time when thousands of men were losing their body parts.
After he grew strong enough to return to his home soil, Popa was admitted to Valley Forge Army Hospital in Pennsylvania. Having received her degree from the University of Pennsylvania, my Grandmother was stationed at the same hospital where my Popa was a patient. She was born in Miami, but after her father was killed in a robbery of his bait and tackle shop, my great-grandmother decided to move her young daughter and son to Pennsylvania to be with her parents, who enforced the need for education, which led my Grandma to study nursing, which led her to Valley Forge, which led her to him. It was there where my Popa flirted with (most likely) all of the nurses, but with her the most. It was there where she cared for the wounded soldier from South Carolina, the should-have-been professional baseball player. It was there where they fell in love. It was there where he asked her to be his forever, and forever she was.
The rest, as they say, is history...and it's a lot of the present, too. Popa decided to pursue a college education, and he was one of the very first blind students to attend the University of South Carolina, where he earned a degree in social work. At Florida State, he received his masters in the same course of study, and he worked as a social worker for many years. Despite being turned away at many jobs for his disability, he never gave up, never took the easy road. And, my grandmother supported him, cared for him, and gave him three beautiful daughters, who gave them both a slew of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
And we're all very thankful for all they gave to us. Our Veterans, they created our lives. Happy Veteran's Day.
In my family, there are many veterans. I suppose I could say that my family, quite literally, was created by veterans. My dad's mother's father was a colonel in the Army. My dad's father was a Marine. My dad was in the Navy. My baby brother was in the Coast Guard. On my mother's side, is a special story that Veteran's Day always makes me recall and cherish a little more. I couldn't begin to write of it on November 11th, as the memory of these two people still makes me cry a little, and I'm afraid that all of the tears may have ruined the keyboard.
My Popa, born and bred in the mill village of Olympia in downtown Columbia, SC, was a remarkable athlete in high school. He never lent himself to studying much because his passion was sports. He was a stellar catcher on his high school baseball team, and before he graduated, he was offered a contract with the Detroit Tigers to play ball in the big leagues. I could say his first love was baseball, but that wouldn't be completely true. His heart belonged to his country, and so he delayed his plans to follow his dream in exchange for signing up for the Army of the Red, White, and Blue.
As way leads on to way, my Popa's road in life would change, and the outcomes that he had anticipated would fade from his view in more ways than one. His job in the Army was to lead a troop of soldiers disengaging mine fields. He travelled from Fort Jackson to Africa to Italy to the beaches of Anzio, and it was in France where life threw him a curve ball that he could never have imagined. On Thanksgiving Day in 1942, when his batallion was called out into a mine field to rescue a medic, his world literally exploded around him when someone from his group tripped the mines. The only survivors were my Popa and the medic who my Popa jumped atop to shield from the flying shrapnel.
Popa lived, but the awful result was the death of his vision. He nearly lost the limbs on the left side of his body to gangrene, but he insisted he needed his arm and leg to play his beloved sport...this, of course, was before he realized that his eyes had, horrifically, been blown out of their sockets. Reluctantly, the doctors agreed to try the new drug, penicillin, and he was a fortunate soldier of the Allied Forces to avoid amputation at a time when thousands of men were losing their body parts.
After he grew strong enough to return to his home soil, Popa was admitted to Valley Forge Army Hospital in Pennsylvania. Having received her degree from the University of Pennsylvania, my Grandmother was stationed at the same hospital where my Popa was a patient. She was born in Miami, but after her father was killed in a robbery of his bait and tackle shop, my great-grandmother decided to move her young daughter and son to Pennsylvania to be with her parents, who enforced the need for education, which led my Grandma to study nursing, which led her to Valley Forge, which led her to him. It was there where my Popa flirted with (most likely) all of the nurses, but with her the most. It was there where she cared for the wounded soldier from South Carolina, the should-have-been professional baseball player. It was there where they fell in love. It was there where he asked her to be his forever, and forever she was.
The rest, as they say, is history...and it's a lot of the present, too. Popa decided to pursue a college education, and he was one of the very first blind students to attend the University of South Carolina, where he earned a degree in social work. At Florida State, he received his masters in the same course of study, and he worked as a social worker for many years. Despite being turned away at many jobs for his disability, he never gave up, never took the easy road. And, my grandmother supported him, cared for him, and gave him three beautiful daughters, who gave them both a slew of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
And we're all very thankful for all they gave to us. Our Veterans, they created our lives. Happy Veteran's Day.
Marty, I love it! This is great and you are such a great writer.
ReplyDeleteI meant MARY!!!! Sorry.
ReplyDelete