Grandpa talks about the war pt. 3

Your Grandpa was an amazing guy. He just embodies what it means to be an American and a good person. He makes me proud to be an American. Thank you for sharing these videos of your grandpa. It’s such a precious gift. 😊

thank you so much for sharing

Thank your grandfather for sharing this story. I'm swedish so my grandpa wasn't fighting in the war since we remained officially neutral during both world wars. Although we provided mild assistance to both the nazis and the allies. (I would love to hear your grandfather's opinions on Sweden's politics during the wartime. It's a topic that we are we're both deeply ashamed of and strangely proud of at the same time. Because we haven't been in a war since the beginning of the 1800's.) But anyway my grandpa was drafted like many others and stationed on an island east of Sweden, ready to fight off a potencial invader (be it Nazis or Soviets). My grandparents took in a finnish child-refugee that fled from the winter war with the soviets. There were loads of them and I think the majority of families helped with housing finnish children during that time.. All the best and feel the bern.

OMG, when he pulled out that calendar, I just about lost it. What he did was Not stupid. It is the very definition of Patriotism & Sacrifice !

I originally made this as a comment reply, but I wanted to share it with everyone, just to give more background information on my grandfather's life, and the obstacles and triumphs of my family: I miss him so dearly. Even in his 90s, he would dance to hip-hop with the grandchildren and great-grandchildren, doing the Cupid Shuffle and Electric Slide, lol. He loved dogs, and you could often see him sitting on the couch during family get-togethers, leaning over and just gently stroking and talking to my dog or my sister's for literally hours, as they lay curled up between his feet. He grew up in a border town where he and his brother were the only white boys at their school (which he literally rode a donkey to every day!). All of his friends were Mexican and Mexican-American. He continued to have a deep connection with the Mexican people and culture throughout his life. His father was absent, so he lived with his mother and brother in a single-room shack in Texas. Eventually, his mother married a Native American chiropractor, who was an alcoholic and domestic abuser. Not only would he beat the shit out of the boys and Grandpa's mother, he would routinely abuse their beloved Chihuahua in front of them, and use the dog to psychologically torture my grandpa and his brother. One thing he did constantly to instill fear and assert dominance over the children, was call the boys over, grab their little dog, a bottle of whiskey on the table next to him (which he would drink like water all night long), then slowly load his pistol--making sure to draw out the process just to heighten the anxiety and terror in these young boys. Then, he would press the barrel of the gun against the dog's head, repeatedly pretending to pull the trigger, jumping and screaming, suddenly shouting, "BOOM!", as the boys cried and pleaded with him to stop. He would cock the hammer of the gun, laughing and taunting them with threats. One night, the wicked step-father was away, so my great-grandma woke both the boys, and they all escaped on foot, walking for miles and miles in the desert. She had taken her husband's gun, and for reasons we can only speculate, handed it to my grandfather and told him that it would be his job to protect the family if the step-dad found them. He was eight years old. Eight. His mother did whatever she had to do to provide for her sons, but as a result of her trauma from years of domestic abuse, plus the things she was forced to do to feed her kids, she turned to alcohol. She remained an alcoholic throughout her life. My grandpa also became an alcoholic after the war, only quitting in his late 70s/early 80s. So, my father also grew up with an alcoholic father who suffered from severe and completely untreated mental illness. My dad was a full-blown alcoholic by the age of 15. By the grace of God, he found music, and became a very successful rock musician traveling around the States and throughout Europe. He married a Norwegian woman and they had a daughter--my sister, Sheila. But his first wife was unfortunately literally psychotic, so they got a divorce. He wanted to raise Sheila, but Turel (the ex-wife) was completely unreliable, and the fact that my dad wasn't a Norwegian citizen made it nearly impossible to gain any type of custody of my sister. He moved back to the United States, and several years later met my mother, who had two sons of her own. My dad was still an alcoholic with untreated mental illness at this time, so my brothers' childhood was rough. But, my dad did the hard work. He started counseling, quit drinking, and went back to college. By the time I was born, my dad was sober and earning his Master of Science degree in Biology. Addiction is rampant in my family history, and so is trauma; my dad was abused, his dad was abused, Dad's mother and grandmother were abused...and unfortunately, my brothers were also physically abused during the years of my dad's drinking. While my childhood was still a little fucked up because of the extreme mental illness in the household, my dad finally broke the cycle. I want people to know that my grandpa, my dad, and my great-grandma were/are incredibly compassionate, empathetic and strong people. Grandpa quit drinking cold-turkey, even keeping an unopened beer can in the fridge for years, just to remind him of his own strength. My dad scratched and clawed his way from working at Domino's to support six people, to making six figures--against all odds. He worked on himself every single day of my life, and although I did suffer some trauma, I was privileged to witness my dad's daily fight to become a better and better man; and he did it all for us. The person he was when I was a young child is dead, and my real dad, the sweet, kind, and caring person who wanted nothing more than to be a great father, survived to be my hero. I love my family not because we're perfect, but because we love each other enough to do whatever it takes to care for each other. This is what makes me proud.