Remembrance Day: To My Grandfather
Today is Remembrance Day. Wear your poppy and thank a veteran. I am a pacifist, I don't understand war, but I am also a supporter of troops. Today we remember past conflicts and ongoing conflicts and thank all those who sacrificed their lives. The state of the world today scares me, I am not going to lie, but we also need to remember that there is so much good in it... however bleak it may seem right now. To quote the good old Mr. Rogers:
Since it is Remembrance Day, I need to think about my grandfather: Gerald Fry (his Anglicized name). He passed away a couple of years ago and was an inspiring man. Born to an established German Jewish family in Hamburg, his father fought for Germany in World War I. As the tides were changing, and anti-semitism in Europe was on the rise, my great grandfather started making plans to move his family out of Germany. Unfortunately he passed before this could happen and he was survived by his wife and two sons. As World War II started, my great grandmother secured spots for her two sons on a similar version to the Kindertransport that was funded by an English nobleman. I cannot imagine the grief, the confusion; your own country turning its back on you, calling you the enemy, openly attacking you for no reason other than for your religion (I think you know that I am not just talking about Judaism here). Think about a mother sending her sons away to save them, with no other choice but to sit and await her fate. She was soon after deported to a concentration camp and killed and my grandfather never saw her again and did not learn of her fate until after the war. I weep.
After making it safely to England, my grandfather's brother went underground with his medical studies and my grandfather continued on to Canada. Heartbroken and enraged with his homeland, he joined the military and signed up to be a pilot. The one issue was that he had diabetes and this was of course verboten. He wrote his brother a letter, asking him for a urine sample so that he could become a pilot. He received one, brought it in for testing and a few days later was called into the recruitment office. The man behind the desk said "Well, I've got good news and I've got bad news. The good news is you don't have diabetes, the bad news is... you are a monkey." His brother worked in a lab and figured monkey urine was just fine... it wasn't. Sibling rivalry level 10. But my grandfather was still able to enlist and he ended up in the tank division. He kept a journal of his time in the war (which he later donated to the Canadian government) from which he told us stories when we were kids. He had lost his hearing in one ear when his tank was shelled and I will always remember driving around in his big boat of a car yelling a story to him. He was always stoic until you got him onto his boat. He was ecstatic. Or...if you were late. Then you were dead. He was German.
One of my favourite stories was when he was in Holland just after the war. The village had recently been liberated from the Nazis and the villagers talked about an official who had stolen their one village bike (not talking about a prostitute). The official took the bike and promptly fell into the dyke and started to drown. The villagers saved the hated man and my grandfather at that moment fell in love with the Netherlands: he often went back for memorial ceremonies. After the war, he fulfilled his dreams of becoming a pilot (hobby), sailed and opened up a company in Montreal. He embraced being Canadian and while he wasn't a huggy feely talk about feelings kind of guy, he loved us. And terrified us whenever he took us on one of his sailboats.
When I told him I was going to marry an Austrian, I was scared. He never really forgave Germany for what happened to his mother. I picked up the phone and said "Grandpa, I am marrying an Austrian." there was a long pause on the other end. A deep breath and then "Is he rich?" and I laughed. My grandfather was a brave man, a mostly kind man, and a ladies man. He fought the good fight and lived his best life. He was a lover of classical music, an adventurer and a man who would consume 3 MacDonald soft serve ice cream cones in under a minute and whisper "Don't tell your mother." I learned a lot from my grandfather. I wish he was still around so that he could know my son. I have a feeling that the two of them would have had a connection beyond comprehension. He is missed and he always seemed to want to know what was new in your life and I miss him very much. He was a hero as far as I am concerned. So this Remembrance Day, I honor you Grandpa. And I hope that we are not entering another time of heartbreaking bigotry and death. Hug your loved ones. Hug a soldier. Never forget. Never.
P.S. the next post will be funny. Or someone is going to have to talk me off the ledge.
Since it is Remembrance Day, I need to think about my grandfather: Gerald Fry (his Anglicized name). He passed away a couple of years ago and was an inspiring man. Born to an established German Jewish family in Hamburg, his father fought for Germany in World War I. As the tides were changing, and anti-semitism in Europe was on the rise, my great grandfather started making plans to move his family out of Germany. Unfortunately he passed before this could happen and he was survived by his wife and two sons. As World War II started, my great grandmother secured spots for her two sons on a similar version to the Kindertransport that was funded by an English nobleman. I cannot imagine the grief, the confusion; your own country turning its back on you, calling you the enemy, openly attacking you for no reason other than for your religion (I think you know that I am not just talking about Judaism here). Think about a mother sending her sons away to save them, with no other choice but to sit and await her fate. She was soon after deported to a concentration camp and killed and my grandfather never saw her again and did not learn of her fate until after the war. I weep.
After making it safely to England, my grandfather's brother went underground with his medical studies and my grandfather continued on to Canada. Heartbroken and enraged with his homeland, he joined the military and signed up to be a pilot. The one issue was that he had diabetes and this was of course verboten. He wrote his brother a letter, asking him for a urine sample so that he could become a pilot. He received one, brought it in for testing and a few days later was called into the recruitment office. The man behind the desk said "Well, I've got good news and I've got bad news. The good news is you don't have diabetes, the bad news is... you are a monkey." His brother worked in a lab and figured monkey urine was just fine... it wasn't. Sibling rivalry level 10. But my grandfather was still able to enlist and he ended up in the tank division. He kept a journal of his time in the war (which he later donated to the Canadian government) from which he told us stories when we were kids. He had lost his hearing in one ear when his tank was shelled and I will always remember driving around in his big boat of a car yelling a story to him. He was always stoic until you got him onto his boat. He was ecstatic. Or...if you were late. Then you were dead. He was German.
One of my favourite stories was when he was in Holland just after the war. The village had recently been liberated from the Nazis and the villagers talked about an official who had stolen their one village bike (not talking about a prostitute). The official took the bike and promptly fell into the dyke and started to drown. The villagers saved the hated man and my grandfather at that moment fell in love with the Netherlands: he often went back for memorial ceremonies. After the war, he fulfilled his dreams of becoming a pilot (hobby), sailed and opened up a company in Montreal. He embraced being Canadian and while he wasn't a huggy feely talk about feelings kind of guy, he loved us. And terrified us whenever he took us on one of his sailboats.
When I told him I was going to marry an Austrian, I was scared. He never really forgave Germany for what happened to his mother. I picked up the phone and said "Grandpa, I am marrying an Austrian." there was a long pause on the other end. A deep breath and then "Is he rich?" and I laughed. My grandfather was a brave man, a mostly kind man, and a ladies man. He fought the good fight and lived his best life. He was a lover of classical music, an adventurer and a man who would consume 3 MacDonald soft serve ice cream cones in under a minute and whisper "Don't tell your mother." I learned a lot from my grandfather. I wish he was still around so that he could know my son. I have a feeling that the two of them would have had a connection beyond comprehension. He is missed and he always seemed to want to know what was new in your life and I miss him very much. He was a hero as far as I am concerned. So this Remembrance Day, I honor you Grandpa. And I hope that we are not entering another time of heartbreaking bigotry and death. Hug your loved ones. Hug a soldier. Never forget. Never.
P.S. the next post will be funny. Or someone is going to have to talk me off the ledge.
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