My greatest generation

My paternal grandparents, Pop and Georgette, lived in a quiet little house in a quiet little neighborhood in the suburbs of Atlanta.  In their living room, was a small shelf that was built into the wall, right next to their chiming alarm clock that hung above the couch that I slept on when I stayed over.

On this shelf, they kept knick knacks and keepsakes.  There were matching coffee mugs with their names on them.  There were pictures of my great grandparents and other relatives that I had never met. There were statuettes of birds and angels and dust covered artificial flowers.  The shelf was full of things that they collected over the years.  Things that meant somethings to them, memories.

On one of the lower shelves were pictures of my grandparents when they were in their early twenties or younger.  The picture of my grandmother was beautiful with her big blue eyes and white smile.  She was a looker; Pop was a lucky man.

The black and white picture of Pop is one that will never fade from my mind.  He was in all of his military gear.  He wasn’t a very big man so the gear and the uniform seemed to swallow him up.  He looked too young to be wearing it all, like a child in a halloween costume.

The one outstanding feature of this photo was the big smile on his face and the look in his eye.  He looked happy, excited, nervous.  I could tell that he was happy to be a soldier.  He wanted to serve and fight for his country despite not knowing exactly what he was about to face.  I wonder what kind of memories Pop formed while he served, the friends he made, the friends he lost.

I’m not sure of what branch of the armed forces Pop was in or where he traveled to but I’m proud of him that he did.  It’s humbling to know that he risked his life for his wife, children and grandchildren.

It’s heart warming to know that the same man who took me camping, held my hand, bought me happy meals, taught me about faith and made me pancakes, put his life on the line to protect my freedoms.

Because of Pops service and all of those who serve and have served, I am able to live in a country where I can freely worship God.  I’m free to live the life that I choose.

I’m free to write this post on my couch, in my quiet little house in my quiet little neighborhood in this suburb of Atlanta.