My Grandfathers Lugar, Drones, and The State Of My Nation

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 1^st 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.

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.

1^st 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.