Our Heroes
My oldest needed a photo of a military veteran to whom he is related for a school music project called "Our Heroes" this week. I was able to quickly put my hands on the photo I wanted (big thanks to my aunt). My grandpa. As an unexpected treat, she sent along these two as well: I can see my white-haired, rotund grandpa in the face of that young sailor. And I know that the story of this day, the day in the photos, is still probably fresh in his mind. And the days that followed as he boarded a ship at the end of the war. And I wish that I had been smart enough to ask him about those days when his mouth and tongue and voice could still form the words to share those stories without stumbling, slow, frustrating effort. How is it that three photos can make me smile, make my heart swell with happiness, make me mad, bring a lump to my throat and make tears pool in the corner of my eyes? All at once? Love you, Grandpa. You will be G's hero.