A Story About My Grandfather

Everyone experiences loss, but the difference is our beliefs of where those individuals go when their time is up here. I have experienced losing friends and family from drugs, freak accidents, diseases, and just natural death. I have seen death right in front of my eyes, but somehow I still find something to comfort me. A place where there is only a peace and where there is no more pain, Heaven.

When you think of losing a grandparent in your life, you think of them passing away. You dread the day you will get the call that they are sick. You then begin to cherish all the moments you have with them leading up to their passing. You have time to except their sickness, and come to terms with the outcome that is to come. My PopPop is not here anymore, but do not get confused, for he is alive. I did not have warning. I did not have time to cherish him. I did not have time to say goodbye. My PopPop was on no medication, which was almost uncanny for a 75-year-old. Trying to encompass everything he was boils down to a few things that may not seem like much to someone who didn’t know him. He went on a walk every night after dinner, and would whistle the same tune when he was happy. He played the same little ditty on the piano every time we were all in the living room. He was a simple man who could not harm a fly, and a good man. Unlike the grandchild warned when they are going to lose a grandparent, I did not have this notice. I did not have time to go on one last walk with him, and I did not have time to record him on the piano. I did not have time to replicate his whistling song, or to spend time with the man I knew. My PopPop was the heathiest man I knew, but then he got depression. First slowly, then all at once. The man I knew had slipped from my fingers without any chance to hold on tighter.

When I was in 5th grade at the age of 10 I was fortunate enough to go on a vacation out of the country. This was a pivotal moment in my life because my family had never really had enough money to go on a trip with all of us, but we did this time because my dad saved up; we were going to the Philippines. Even though it was just supposed to be a vacation, it ended up being something completely different. During our time there, we stayed with my uncle who lived in an underprivileged neighborhood.Spending time with my relatives in that place made me realize that I took things for granted. My thoughts recollected at the church, where I really saw a different view of my dad. He was teaching in a huge, crowded church and what he said and did seemed

Miracles. They are something we depend upon during the worst situations. Courage. It is something that some people lack. Most Holocaust survivors, however, have experienced miracles and have had the courage to take risks during the war. They were able to conquer their fears and tell their stories. One of those survivors was Georgia Gabor. She was born in Budapest, Hungary in 1930. Georgia escaped the Nazis three times and was never put into a concentration camp. While I was listening to her story I felt many emotions. I felt sad yet also happy because while Georgia was telling her story, she was laughing. She was able to tell her sad story while still laughing with the parts she thought was funny.

There have been countless influential people in my life that I’ve come across. One who was a meticulous inspiration continues to be my grandfather. My grandmother had remarried to the one I call “grandpa” when I was at the age of five, and they both took to each other’s grandchildren as their own. With my mother and me only living a mile down the road from their farmhouse out in the country, I’d spent heaps amount of time there as a child. Indeed, I had been without a father but my grandfather stepped up to the plate and had taken me under his wing and willingly played the personification of a father figure.

Though reticent to bring them up in conversation, my grandparents speak about the camps and their experiences not begrudgingly, but rather in a tone that is one of acceptance. They did what they had to do to survive and make the best of their situation – what most people who were interned chose to do. My grandpa, celebrating his 90th birthday this year, is still as lively as ever and always willing to talk sports, woodworking, music, or cars with my siblings and I. My grandma, just got to see her beloved Cubbies win the World Series. They live half a mile from Wrigley Field, she’s the biggest Cubs fan I know, and she once said I looked like Kris

followed ELie Wiesel on his journey during the holocaust. It was a story that pulled on your heartstrings and made your heart heavy. Elie Wiesel in Night suggests that word have a lot of control over one's feelings. In the beginning of the book all the Jewish families were being moved from ghetto to ghetto. During my first quote Elie is in the second ghetto waiting to leave with his family. The officers began to yell at all the Jewish people. Elie says, “That was when I began to hate them, and my hatred remains our only link today.”(19) This shows that a happy boy who thought the world was a kind place had started to hate. He started to hate because the officers were yelling rude things at them. The officers hateful words had made the Jewish

My current plan as far as outlining where this thesis is going to go involves dividing Grandpa’s story whereby every part of it will fit into each among the five assigned milestones, starting with his earliest memory in 1941 of Christmas Day at 4 River Lane.

I chose the story that my great grandmother has told me my whole life about my great grandfather Gallie Stump. He was an Army soldier in World War 2. He was able to live through the war and be in Berlin when Hitler committed suicide. The Soldiers stationed in Berlin, Germany had the opportunity to celebrate Hitler’s death by carving their names into his desk and taking a picture while sitting on it. My great grandfather’s story told a tale of his act of heroism, pride fullness, and love.

Families And Friends During Holocaust “In hard times we learn 3 things… Friends are closer than we knew they could be, Family Loves us more than we thought & we can be stronger than we ever imagined. ”(anonymous) During world war 2 was a very harsh time for families and friends in Germany.

I have an abundance of grotesque, yet, barely visible memories of childhood. However, no breathtaking family trips, no unique family togetherness that taught a moral lesson, no abnormal holidays. We still ate family meals together, but most often the children and adults lived in different worlds. When I needed comforting or wanted the best of both worlds, I could turn to my Grandpa.

For many people, Grandpa is a storyteller, someone to go fishing with, and someone who has your back no matter what. The experience I had with my grandpa was a little different. I never got the opportunity to meet my great-grandfather Liston Grider, but he still somehow managed to have a huge impact on my life. Sometimes my mom would tell stories about him; happy memories from her childhood, sad ones that were painful for her to tell, and everything in between. I thought I had heard it all, but this past summer I learned something about my great grandpa that would perhaps impact my life forever. This story was not told by my mom like usual, but by someone who was a complete stranger to me. The lessons I learned would not be taught in a single day, but over the span of a month through a series of Facebook messages and letters in the mail. The words I read upon opening those messages and letters would change my life forever, permanently transform my beliefs, and show me what it truly means to be an American.

I think the person who has had the most profound effect on my life besides my parents is my grandfather. I never realized before how much of an effect he had on my interests and goals for the future. Years ago, he used to tell me stories about historical events and experiences he had fighting in Vietnam and my great grandfather fighting in World War 2. His vivid descriptions always made it so interesting and, in some cases, more light-hearted than what actually happened. To this day he still has more stories to tell me, and never fails to captivate my interest. In doing this, he opened my eyes to my biggest interest, history, and encouraged me to pursue this interest throughout school. I feel like it would help to give a short summary of his life and how it affected me.

When we were together we were invincible, us against the world. I’d look up to him, not only because he was 6’4, but because he was my grandpa. I have clear memories of him picking me up from school, playing old school reggae music during our adventurous car rides. We’d always sing along to our favorites, sometimes turn the music up so loud the people in the cars next to us could hear it. When I would visit his apartment, the familiar smell of drywall and pennies would fill the air. It was my hideaway, my home away from home. My grandpa collected pennies in water jugs. He would say that one day they’d be worth more than just pennies. I loved it there, not only because he had a freezer filled with many flavors of ice cream to which he would often say to me “you can have all you can eat” but because it was our time to bond. For five years it was my mom, my dad, and my grandpa helping me to grow. Those are my favorite people, my role models. Being around my grandpa brought me such comfort and joy.

“I can’t believe that’s true!” I exclaimed, my laughter echoing through the room. My grandpa and I had been chatting on the phone for the past half an hour. You would imagine a man his age would be boring and dull. However, he was quite the joker. At least with me, since I was, of course, his favorite granddaughter.