What I learned Changed My Life

I’ve learned a great deal while writing this book, but the most significant lesson is the importance of people writing down their personal stories. I used to believe that I didn’t have stores to tell, or   at least not important ones.  I have since discovered that this belief is false. I now realize that our stories are created from the daily experiences of life. We consider some to be eventful, while most are not.  Combined together over time, our stories take on patterns that define who we are and what we believe.

Many Native American tribes know the importance of maintaining tales or legends. It is a way to pass down their tribal history and keep their ancestors alive. Yarns are told around campfires, with the young sitting wide-eyed, listening to tales of brave battles, animal hunts, and tribal events. Some tales were etched onto animal hides, in order to be visibly passed down to future generations. These tribes realized that unrecorded stories die with their creators.

 Through my research and exposure to my grandfather’s journal, I’ve been inspired by the rewarding aspect of recorded stories, as well as the regret that can stem from unrecorded ones. The pleasure of reading my grandfather’s journal epitomizes the joy that can be derived from possessing such a family treasure.

 I didn’t know my grandfather very well. He presented himself as stern and unapproachable, the type of person who might be likely to carry a sign with “Children Keep Away” written on it. In addition to his formidable demeanor, he and my grandmother spent a greater portion of their retirement years at their home in Florida, only visiting during the summer months to escape the Florida heat. I can only remember a few times that I actually interacted with him during my  formative years.

My grandfather’s journal is a prime example of the value of documenting events in one’s life. It has been through his writings that I’ve gotten to know the man behind the stoic exterior, presenting me  with a peek into his tender, loving side. Reading his war experiences has helped me define his true character. For this, I’m eternally grateful.

After my father passed away in 2006, I experienced a feeling of loss, not only for my parent but also for his personal history. Shortly after his death, my brother, sister, and I had to dispense of the items within our childhood home. In the process we went through some of my father’s personal belongings. We were surprised by what he’d kept: high school diplomas, his military draft card, some personal letters, and many other items.

As we determined what to keep and what to discard, it occurred to me that each of these stored items was meaningful to my father. They must have represented a significant memory or special story. Holding his draft card,  I was transcended to the day when I received my own.  

 I was a single young man, just out of high school when the Vietnam War was heating up.  I could vividly recall the intense anxiety that touched the lives of all males 18 years and older- facing the reinstatement of military conscription. Assigned a draft number based on one’s birthdate, the relatively high number of “224”will always hold a special place in my heart. That particular numeral spared me from being  randomly called up for active duty.

 My father’s World War Two draft card symbolized an entirely different story for him, that of a new father pulled into an alarming, large-scale global conflict. Ironically, territory marked by the footsteps and corpses of soldiers engaged in the First World War continued to be fought over by later combatants of my father’s era. There were so many possible stories that could be attached to this piece of paper. Yet, without my father, these accounts are only conjecture; the actual particulars are lost forever.

Only a few of my father’s narratives remain—the ones he shared with us as we were growing up. Some were from his childhood, while others described his experiences while serving in the U.S. Navy during World War Two. Even as I treasure these shared stories, I know that they are mere glimpses into a much fuller life, one I’ll never know.

 I’m gratified to realize that, on many occasions,  my father and I created memories together. Among these are hunting and fishing episodes, Boy Scout camping trips, and residential construction projects.  My plans are to draft a chronicle of these common experiences, where my father will remain alive within its sentimental pages.

I’m carrying this lesson forward in my own life. Even though I’ve had many personal conversations with my own children, I know that in time, their recollection of these anecdotal tales may fade. It will be comforting for me to seal these memories posthumously within my own journal,  serving as a window into the man they called father.

Composing this book, The Promise, has embellished the value of my grandfather’s journal much beyond that which could be derived by myself or any of his descendants. Its examination will transcend any reader beyond a mere historical depiction of World War One, transporting them through the personal experiences of one man who endured, while millions of others perished.