(I never put pictures of my granddaughters on the web for any reason, I love them, all three of them, far to much)
Yesterday I received a phone call from one of my three granddaughters. This one is twelve years old and called to ask if I would participate in a class project which called for an interview of someone she loved but did not know a lot about their past, likes or dislikes, etc. This was followed up by an email that outlined the questions she would be asking me over the phone, as she lives to far for a day trip for an interview. I was not only honored that she selected me, but delighted that she wanted to have that conversation (interview if you will) with me, out of all she could have chosen from, it was me she wanted to know about. When I read the questions sent via the email, I was astonished at the depth and personal nature of the questions involved. I was so anxious I started without her and filled out the questions on the email sent. I tried to be complete, honest and deliberate in all my responses, hoping to give her an in-depth look into who her grandpa was and is. The questions ranged from my age, my family’s names and number of siblings and sex of each, in the order they were born, to my experiences in Vietnam, my fears, my advice for the world and how her Nana and I met and details of our courtship (only how we met and some of our “funny” experiences in that courtship).
It was while completing the interview that I realized just how little my own granddaughter, almost a teenager now, knew about me, her grandpa who thought we had the best and closest relationship any grandpa could ever hope to have with their grandchildren. So I started a journey down memory lane, giving a peek into an old man’s life, what made him to be how he is and thought about how my granddaughter would see me once exposed to a person she thought she knew. How different would I appear to be to her? Would she love me more, less, or about the same? I wanted to be honest, but would she see me differently once exposed to some of my inner thoughts and feeling about war, my fears, my likes and dislikes, and my granddaughters whom I love more than anything I can think of, other than their Nana or Uncles.
The more I answered her well thought out questions, exposing my soul to a young girl, between a child and a young woman, who grew up holding my hands at Disneyland, and still sits on the edge of my bed (due to my disabilities) to watch Braves games with me, and just tell me about her day. Now she was learning about mine (my past) and more, my love, who is known to me as Val, my wife, and to my granddaughter as Nana, her grandma. I was careful not to be too graphic about my experiences in Vietnam, but did not want to insult her intelligence by giving her a redacted version of what war is, so sanitized that the truth of the horrors of war would be lost, so I carefully carved out a picture that detailed the war as I saw it without detailing the graphic nature of any war to the point she might lose the importance of learning the truth. This was a difficult task, but like her father, now sharing a place in heaven with God, her great grandma and great grandpa, and one of her uncles, my granddaughter is very intelligent, advanced in the school system, just as her father was, and she would easily see through any tainted picture that I might give her about my life experiences. She wanted the truth and to know, so as gently as I could, I gave her what she needed to know, wanted to know, and actually had to know, the truth.
As I finished or completed my interview and reviewed it to ensure I gave her something that would teach her not only about her grandpa, but some history that she will never get in school. Our travels and assignments took us, over the years, to Greece and Ethiopia during times of turmoil and the making of history, how is really was, as seen through the eyes of her grandpa and Nana, who were there, experienced the strife of countries being over thrown, kings and Emperors removed from power and conditions of life that only those living it could experience it or understand it. So my twelve year old, innocent, granddaughter, got insight into who her grandpa was, is and will always be. She learned that the world is not everything she sees on TV and that what is told by reporters are not the same as being told by her grandparents who lived it, survived it, became a part of it, history as it was, not told in books she will surely read now that she has a taste of the real world, both the good and the not so good.
Earlier today she called me and first thanked me for writing it all down for her in a way that gave her perspective she could only learn by stories told by her grandpa, while truthful, she wondered if I embellished anything, and of course I told her the truth, as I always do, “of course I did not embellish anything, what I wrote is exactly as it happened, how it was, my true life experiences as reflected by me, a real person she could relate to and trust that I would not lie or fool her. For that, she loves me and for that, I am blessed, for she is special and I only wish I could be around to experience far more with her, instead of leaving her a debt she, nor her children will ever be able to repay, a life that will be in jeopardy of living her live out under a “Socialist” government, rather than the one I grew up with, one I was not afraid of, one I am unable to defend her against as my age and health will not allow. As we talked about the answers to her interview questions, I could tell she was intrigued with her grandpa’s life. She knew that I served in the Intelligence Community, but never truly comprehended the significance of the life I lived, in so many places, and that her Nana shared many or most of those experiences with me. She never really considered that her dad was born and raised in Africa, in Ethiopia, while it still had an “Emperor” or in lived in Greece while it was under the rule of a “King”. The daily dangers that her Nana faced as she followed me around the world in exotic places, knowing I worked for the government but even as my wife, never knew what I did, or why so many people from countries, once our enemies, wanted to hurt me or kill me and even tried at times. To know he grandpa and Nana were chased by natives tossing spears at them, prior to the interview, was just a story her grandpa and Nana told her growing up, but now after the interview, those stories became all too real and she now grasp the significance of what she now knew, and would never have learned about in school, not in a way that was so personal.
Bottom line, the interview connected me with my granddaughter in a way that nothing else ever could, and I am so glad that she chose me to do her interview with, of all the people she could have chosen, she picked me, and I had a responsibility to tell her, with care, a little about her grandpa and Nana, and far more about “History” as it really was, rather than what someone want it to be told in a school we no longer can trust to teach our children the truth about the world. It is up to us to tell our grandchildren, at every chance and opportunity, about our life experience, and why it is important to pass on to those we love our experiences so that they know who we are and why. It is up to us to educate the next generations at every opportunity about the reasons why it is important for them to pick up the pieces and put what we broke back together again, before the pieces get lost. I also learned something during the interview, something I guess I took far too much for granted. I learned a lot about a Granddaughter’s love for her grandpa, and for now, that is enough.
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