Dear Grandpa,

When you were alive, I never really knew you… what you’d been through, what you’d done in your life. To me, you were just “Grandpa”, who enjoyed having his grandkids over and playing cards with them. Of course, I’d heard stories of camping in the Yukon when my Dad was a kid. But I didn’t know how much you & I had in common: we were both involved with leading kids’ groups!

Mind you, I simply worked with my church, while you started up your own organization for the kids, with the help of my grandmother. And I didn’t get into all the camping, like you did.

These days, you embarrass me. Your pictures are (proudly) splattered all over my Facebook, and I’m embarrassed–because it makes me cry…. as I read how you saw your buddies killed in the war, which is only a fraction of the things you saw as a sargeant in Italy; and how you had to celebrate Christmas by cooking turkeys in a gas can (I’m sure you managed to think of it as fun at the time). I read the same stories every year, and it always makes me cry.

But I guess that’s as it should be. Tomorrow we look over the Christmas music, but for today, we Remember. And we’ll never forget!



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