Almost a million years ago,
when I was probably six, my Grandfather Paul Cure was my Hero. I knew he had
been to war. I knew we won the war; and I knew it was because of him. I knew we
weren’t really allowed to ask about the war and that he never talked about it,
but downstairs, in the room that held the furnace and a freezer, and a very
scary septic tank, was a trunk.
Inside that trunk was an old
Lugar Pistol, Uniforms, some very colorful scarves, exotic flags, letters,
papers, medals, and pieces of silk in brilliant colors that he had brought home
from the war. We, my brothers and I, would sneak into this trunk and rummage around; our voices whispered and eyes sucking it all in.
Even at that age I knew I
was touching things that were not only forbidden to be touched by the grubby
hands of a 6 year old, but were sacred, and important. I knew these mementos
had meaning and I knew that my life was like it was because my grandfather and
thousands of me just like him had done what they had done.
Time passed and Grandpa
spent more and more time sleeping; on the sofa, under the picture window, of the yellow brick farmhouse that he had built, with his own hands. Usually he would wake up long
enough to give us a butter scotch candy, and that was about it. More time passed
and we didn’t go to the farm to visit anymore, and then, when we did, he was gone.
They told us, my brothers
and I, that he had passed away. I didn’t know what that meant until I was
older. I didn’t know about chemo, and radiation, and lung cancer, and the pain
my Gramma (Rosetta Cure) endured, and no one really discussed it. We just knew
he was gone, and that made us sad.
Later I asked my Mother
about what Granddad had done in the war. I can’t exactly remember all that
she told me but she did tell me that at one point Granddads job had been to pick up enemy troops and
transport them to the places where they were kept until they could be
processed. She told me that one time Granddads boss told him that they didn't have any more room for the enemy soldiers, and to take them somewhere else and
just make sure they didn't come back. She told me that they meant Granddad
should just take them somewhere and kill them. Then she told me Granddad wouldn't do it and that he had almost gotten into trouble for this.
Why wouldn't he do it? I
asked. Because, that’s not how war is done, she explained. There are rules even
in war, and those rules say that shooting someone who has surrendered isn't allowed. She said there were lots of rules, and she didn't know them all but
they helped to protect everyone during wartime. She then asked me how it would
be if Granddad had been captured and then they had just killed him? I understood that would be horrible. Like I say, my Granddad had
been one of my 1st Heros.
The thought of Granddad
having the chance to kill people, being told to kill people, when he didn't need to, and his not doing it, made me even more proud of him then the thought
of him killing the enemy.
See I was told, and I believed,
and still believe, that WWII was about freedom for the whole world. Freedom for
me and my brothers and family, and freedom for lots of other nations and people,
and that if we didn't fight them, we wouldn't be able to be free either.
I believed that America was
more than just the states, and more than our borders. I believed that our
soldiers brought freedom, and defeated people who tried to take that freedom
away from other people who wanted it too.
In my young mind I believed
that we were the good guys, and that the Germans, and Japanese were the bad
guys. I understood that the Germans were the bad guys because they kept taking
peoples countries away, and killing lots of people for no good reason at all.
And I believed the Japanese were bad because they had bombed Pearl Harbor for
no good reason at all and killed lots of our Soldiers and sunk lots of our
ships. I believed that the Germans and the Japanese wanted to take over the
whole world and make everyone live like they did, and that the war had to be
fought until they would just go back home and leave us alone, and I believed that
my Granddad had fought to make this happen, and he had won, and the proof was
that I was free, and so were lots of other people.
Even at that young age I
had an understanding of freedom. Freedom meant you could go anywhere you wanted
to go in the whole United States anytime you wanted to. Freedom meant the
police had to leave you alone unless you were doing something wrong and that no
one could come on your land unless you said they could. Soldiers were for war
or disaster only and they weren't allowed to hurt people in the USA, unless it
was an enemy that was invading. Freedom
meant you could have a gun if you wanted one. Freedom meant you had the right
to go as far in life as you wanted to and that was based on how hard you
worked. Freedom meant you could go to any church you wanted to or not go to
church at all. Being a Free country meant you didn't go around trying to take
other peoples countries away from them and they weren't allowed to try to take
yours away from you.
I understood that if your country declared war on someone else’s country then you either went to their country to fight or they came to your country to fight. I understood that no matter what you did the law said you were innocent unless you admitted you had done it, or a jury decided you had done it, and this was how we made sure people who were innocent didn't get locked up or shot by cops. I understood that people who worked extra hard or were extra smart by going to college had plenty of money and people who didn’t just had to be poor.
I understood that if your country declared war on someone else’s country then you either went to their country to fight or they came to your country to fight. I understood that no matter what you did the law said you were innocent unless you admitted you had done it, or a jury decided you had done it, and this was how we made sure people who were innocent didn't get locked up or shot by cops. I understood that people who worked extra hard or were extra smart by going to college had plenty of money and people who didn’t just had to be poor.
In the eyes of this boy
freedom was good, and worth dying for, and if your country wasn't free then you
just had to figure out a way to move to one that was.
But now, all these years
later things are just all fucked up.
1st of all I don’t
feel free. None of the things that made me feel free as a kid seem to exist
anymore. Police can do whatever they want to. They can come on your property
anytime they want to and do any damn thing they want. In California I have to
drive through check points to get in and out of my State, or if I fly I have to
be screened, fondled, x-rayed, and approved. Now you can’t just have a gun if
you’re over 16 and passed your hunter safety course (which was free). Now you
have to apply for a permit and you might be allowed, and it seems the Government doesn't want anyone to have guns, except cops. Now we are having a war against
terrorism which could be anywhere, or anyone, and today I learned that America
has decided it’s legal to kill people, even American people, if we think they
might be a terrorist with a drone. So to me that means no one is innocent until
proven guilty. Also I don’t feel like the people who work extra hard or go to
school to be extra smart get to be richer because the Government takes more of
their money to give to poor people so they won’t be so poor.
I know at 6 or 7 kids see
in mostly black and white, good or bad, free or not, but as for me I always
felt that being free was good. Being free, made me proud, and put me on the
high road, but now I don’t feel proud, and I don’t feel free, at least not as
proud and free as I used to; and that just sucks.
They (the terrorists) flew planes into
our buildings to kill some of us, now we have the right to fly things into
their buildings, and kill them. They aren't free because their Governments
oppress them, while our Government oppresses us. They can just pop up anywhere at any
time and kill us, and we can do the same to them.
I guess it’s just getting
harder and harder for me to see the difference between them and us, and I
realize that when we become like them, instead of them becoming like us, or
just agreeing to leave each other alone, then the war is lost, even if the
battle goes on.
I wonder how it will be in
60 years or so when the next generation looks into the trunks of their
grandfathers, will war mementos still have meaning, will the Grandchildren look
at today’s soldiers as hero’s and saviors of the world or will they just look
upon the mementos with the same indifference as if they had found and old
briefcase or an Amway catalog.