My father’s father was nicknamed “Shine.” It wasn’t because it rhymed with William Leonard Thrasher. It was because of his spirit and his soul. And his smile. There’s a street in Greenville, South Carolina named after him: “Shine’s Alley.”
Some say I’m a lot him.
If only.
Recently I’ve been thinking of my grandfather. A lot. Of course, because of a project. I share projects on this blog because I try to keep the other parts of my life to myself. Most of the time I succeed.
I’m in the middle of a project that’s made me think of my grandfather. I called him Papa. He served under General Patton’s Third Army in World War 2. He drove a dozer tank in that army. One day, if I have the great fortune to do so, I want to tell a story based on Papa. The title of the book already has a name and an address.
I’ve been thinking of him as I write a story about a soldier. I can’t say anything about this story–not yet. Hopefully I’ll be able to soon.
I recently subscribed to HBO to watch their new miniseries, “The Pacific.” I’m also rewatching “Band of Brothers,” the best miniseries I’ve ever seen.
The older I get, the more I begin to understand the service and the sacrifice of our Armed Services. Not just in World War 2, but during any era. Especially our era.
I still can barely imagine my grandfather going over to Europe to help fight in the great war. It’s hard to imagine a world at war and all the horrors and atrocities during that time.
My grandfather was a hero, like the men in Easy Company. Like the soldiers serving our country now in Iraq and Afghanistan and other places.
I try to imagine what it’s like, to walk in their boots, to sweat in their skin, to bleed with them. But still, it’s impossible. I can only do that: imagine. Imagine and be thankful.
I wish I could tell my grandfather how proud I am of what he did.
Sentence by sentence, I try. In my own little way.