NationStates Jolt Archive

My grandfather, whose name I will not disclose because he is still alive, is an honorable man. No, he never served in any military nor did he fight in any war. He did not stand in picket lines of protest nor did he join any organisations.

To the world, he is a nobody. He was born into a poor farming family, was given a hardship waiver from the Army that kept him out of WWII, helped his mother when she was sick by tending to his brothers and, at the age of 14 (the oldest), helped his father bury her. He took a job on an oil rig when he was 16 and worked that same job until he retired at 70. He married a woman when he was 17 and is still married to that same woman today.

National hero? No.
Superstar? No.
Great Warrior? No.
My hero? You betcha.

Never once has he shirked in his duties as a father and husband. Never once did he say he was too good to work. Never once did he miss church. Never once did he have a bad word to say about anyone for any reason.

History will not remember this man. Other than a birth record, only memories will prove this man even ever existed. However, he's the best man I know. It is his example that has taught me how to be a man.

So ... what's the point of this thread? Well, I guess there isn't one.

Though, I am curious ... is there a "nobody" in your life who matters? Speak up!

My mom.

She grew up at the end of WWII in Italy. During Mussolini's reign she got a couple years of elementary schooling, but after the war she had to stop going to school to help support the family and her 5 siblings. They were poor. I mean go out and pick wild broccoli rabe or we've got nothing to eat tonight poor. You outgrew your last pair of shoes and we can't afford new ones so you go barefoot poor. When the family was allowed to emigrate to the USA (because my grandfather helped out the US troops) she immediately started work in sweatshops to help support the family. She worked long hours with little pay. Eventually married my father, he became permanently disabled and was unable to work. They scrimped and saved. His disability money, her meager wages, and alot of frugality allowed them to buy a second home and keep the old one as a rental property.

When my father died she mourned, but was so loyal to him she never considered remarrying. She still talks about him, and keeps him in her heart.

My mother has stood by me and sacrificed for me despite the fact that I had done some stupid things. She stood by me when I was locked up and was one of the only three people who would visit me. I still visit her just about every day. I'm lucky enough to live just 15 minutes away from her house.

Thank you, Drunk Commies ... that's good stuff :)

Thank you, Drunk Commies ... that's good stuff :)
It seems that generation was a little tougher and more honorable than most people nowadays.

my grand father would kick your grand fathers ass any day of the week

It seems that generation was a little tougher and more honorable than most people nowadays.

True! I think we owe a lot to that generation - whether they went to war or not - simply because they grew up as true survivors. I guess that was my purpose with this thread ... to show that not everyone who is a hero is a warrior.

I like to quote the movie Arthur: "Not everyone who drinks is a poet. Some of us drink because we're not poets."

my grand father would kick your grand fathers ass any day of the week

Now there's a productive answer to the thread.

Makes you wonder, lots of clever intelligent people out there. Off the top of my head there isn't anybody I can think of like that, but then there's relations, who I am eternally grateful to, for everything.

Stuff goes on all the time like that, and they get no recognition, some don't want any. Then you some Soccer player like Wayne Rooney or David Beckham, with a disgustingly huge income, but they just play a game that they love, people see them as heroes.

My heroes are those who fought in WW2, and died alone, or without recognition, against the Nazi's, like the escapologists, and the Resistance, and those who were in the Armies, Air Forces and Navies. But they're just a few who got us to where we are today. Then you get ****wits who seem to have no concept of anything that has got them where they are today. Makes me sick.

My Hero is (Or Was) an older friend who was murdured last summer for asking a crack dealer who was selling the stuff to her boyfriend to leave her house. She was shot twice in the chest and once in the head with a Glock the dealer had in his pocket. She was a great person and a good friend who died standing up to to a person who was harming someone she loved.

My grandfather, whose name I will not disclose because he is still alive, is an honorable man. No, he never served in any military nor did he fight in any war. He did not stand in picket lines of protest nor did he join any organisations.

To the world, he is a nobody. He was born into a poor farming family, was given a hardship waiver from the Army that kept him out of WWII, helped his mother when she was sick by tending to his brothers and, at the age of 14 (the oldest), helped his father bury her. He took a job on an oil rig when he was 16 and worked that same job until he retired at 70. He married a woman when he was 17 and is still married to that same woman today.

National hero? No.
Superstar? No.
Great Warrior? No.
My hero? You betcha.

Never once has he shirked in his duties as a father and husband. Never once did he say he was too good to work. Never once did he miss church. Never once did he have a bad word to say about anyone for any reason.

History will not remember this man. Other than a birth record, only memories will prove this man even ever existed. However, he's the best man I know. It is his example that has taught me how to be a man.

So ... what's the point of this thread? Well, I guess there isn't one.

Though, I am curious ... is there a "nobody" in your life who matters? Speak up!

Nothing left but memories... and honour... I salute your grandfather.

I think that when all is said and done, these veterans were fighting for what they believed was a good cause, for their homes and our futures. We do owe them a lot - sadly, they often get much less than what they gave and accept it uncomplainingly.

My grandfather was at Capas 1942-1943/44

Maharlikana

History will not remember this man.
this instantly made me think of 'Death of a Salesman', which is by no means a bad thing, and i think it kind of enforces the message youre putting across as well

So ... what's the point of this thread? Well, I guess there isn't one.




Is this guy (http://liq-xtal.cwru.edu/wahoo3.jpg) your grandpappy, or him (http://www.geocities.com/~pisrael/p83-1.jpg) , or him?

History will not remember this man. Other than a birth record, only memories will prove this man even ever existed. However, he's the best man I know. It is his example that has taught me how to be a man./me leans forward.

History will remember whoever is written about and read about. Historians often read through diary and journal entries from decades, even centuries ago. History might remember your grandfather... but only if you write about him.

"Think about it for a moment." ;)

--The Democratic States of Cogitation
Founder and Delegate of The Realm of Ambrosia

My ickle Dante is, and will forever, be my hero.

Just like Ravea, my ickle Dante took a bullet for someone he loved dearly. A terrible accident the night was, but in a quick moment of selflessness he turned a gun on himself and took a bullet that would have implanted itself in a five year old girl instead.

He will be remembered always as a great man in my eyes despite his problems. To the world, he is just a name of some guy, but to those who knew him, he was an inspiration who showed many the true meaning of love.

My grandfather, whose name I will not disclose because he is still alive, is an honorable man. No, he never served in any military nor did he fight in any war. He did not stand in picket lines of protest nor did he join any organisations.

To the world, he is a nobody. He was born into a poor farming family, was given a hardship waiver from the Army that kept him out of WWII, helped his mother when she was sick by tending to his brothers and, at the age of 14 (the oldest), helped his father bury her. He took a job on an oil rig when he was 16 and worked that same job until he retired at 70. He married a woman when he was 17 and is still married to that same woman today.

National hero? No.
Superstar? No.
Great Warrior? No.
My hero? You betcha.

Never once has he shirked in his duties as a father and husband. Never once did he say he was too good to work. Never once did he miss church. Never once did he have a bad word to say about anyone for any reason.

History will not remember this man. Other than a birth record, only memories will prove this man even ever existed. However, he's the best man I know. It is his example that has taught me how to be a man.

So ... what's the point of this thread? Well, I guess there isn't one.

Though, I am curious ... is there a "nobody" in your life who matters? Speak up!

Beautiful. Just beautiful. I don't go in for hero worship (I usually get disappointed), but if I did, then I would worship a man like that. David Beckham is just a layabout who will be remembered forever, despite the fact that he has done nothing. People all over the world worship him. Disgusting.

My Mom and Dad. My Mom is a hard worker with the patience of a saint. My Dad is a hard worker with an optimism so strong its seen him through war, immigration, a terrible car accident and more, always smiling. There's a lot more to both of them than what I've said, but those are the things the rest of us Nobodies will remember them for. They just retired last year, and I'm going out west in a month to help them build their house. I am so happy for them. Hopefully I can help them as much as they've helped me.


EDIT: I figured this was going to be the topic of thread as soon as I saw the title. Nice one.

Other than a birth record, only memories will prove this man even ever existed

Keruvalia - I'll help remember.

Beautiful. Just beautiful. I don't go in for hero worship (I usually get disappointed), but if I did, then I would worship a man like that. David Beckham is just a layabout who will be remembered forever, despite the fact that he has done nothing. People all over the world worship him. Disgusting.
atleast preteen girls will think hes sexy

barney's my hero...

Though, I am curious ... is there a "nobody" in your life who matters? Speak up!
I would have to say my grandfather. He was born in 1931, in Czechoslovakia into a family of 5, he was the second youngest. He grew up being poor. He lived through Nazi occupied Czechoslovakia where he saw more than his fair share of deaths. And, on one day his father left to go to the Sudetenland and never returned. Then after the war he lived in Soviet occupied Czechoslovakia, and he told me about how bad it was. One day when he was 18 or 19 he decided to leave. He left and never returned for 50 years. Never saw his mother again. He ran away and for some time had to hide from the Russians until he reached Germany. He stayed in a camp for a few months until Canada decided to let him in.

He left and crossed the Atlantic not knowing anyone in Canada, not even being able to speak English.(He only had a piece of paper that said Eggs and Pancakes.) He made his way to Vancouver and started working. He finally started to learn English and that is when he met my grandmother. He was too afraid to ask her out until he finally got the courage to ask her. They got married and had my Uncle and Mother. After my mother was born he had a job painting houses for the government. Now my mother tells me a story(I'm not quite sure how it goes) about how the government wanted my grandfather to do something(I can't remember) and he wouldn't do it. So they started giving him crummy jobs. He could have complained but, that wasn't my grandfather.

What amazes me about my grandfather is that, he could have had the mind to hate a lot of people but he never did. He could have hated the Germans or the Russians or even the Canadians who didn't treat him all too good. But he didn't he just did what he was told, and tried to live life the best he could.

My grandfather doesn't talk about his past much(he much prefers watching hockey and calling the Czech hockey players bums and such) but, from what I've heard he has one of the most interesting stories. Life has delt him a pretty bad hand but he has always just kept on living. and for him I cannot thank him enough for that(but, I doubt that he'd know what to say about it). Well, that's all I have to say about it now.

Is this guy (http://liq-xtal.cwru.edu/wahoo3.jpg) your grandpappy, or him (http://www.geocities.com/~pisrael/p83-1.jpg) , or him?

No .... him (http://ops.tamu.edu/x075bb/caddo/IconIndian.GIF)

:D

My Hero?

Well My Grandfather was no saint, but I did admire him in many ways.
However, his accomplishments were both great and small.

He however, isnt my hero.

My Hero is sort of a silly one.
Its my dog.

My dog is almost 13 years old, a Golden retreiver-Samoyed mix.
I got him when I was 18 years old.
Ive always related to animals far better than people, and have always had a way with them, particularly dogs.

When I got Jose, I was growing up, but still pretty angry at the world.
But, one look at that white and brown fuzzy pup and my heart would melt instantly.
Over the years, no matter how severe my depression, or lonely I felt, when I came home at the end of my day, there was Jose to cheer me up and provide love and affection.

Jose has always been an "agressively affectionate" kind of dog.
The kind that would think nothing of bowling you over so that it would be easier to lick your face.
The kind that would demand to sleep on your bed, and then promptly hog the whole bed.
One that insisted upon licking you when your trying to read, and looked hurt when you told him to stop.

I believe that this kind of unconditional love saved my life.
When I was growing up, I honestly feel that If I would not have had that kind of support, when no one else seemed reliable, at least there was always one person who was always thrilled to see me.
No matter what I did, or how much of an asshole I was....that dog loved, and still loves me unconditionally to this day.

Hes my hero.

My grandfather who died when I was a child, fought in WW2, in the British REME. He was a anti-aircraft gunner during The Blitz, and even when he and his crew ran out of shells and bullets to fire at the German Warplanes, they would 'fire' the empty barrels and guns defiantly at the German warplanes anyway.

Later on, he was attached to a part of The British Army that liberated a concentration camp in Germany or Belgium, it might have been Bergen-Belsen, I'm ashamed to say I don't know and my Grandmother does not know either.

He would rarely talk about it, and obviously not to me because I was still a kid when he was alive, but years later after his death, I found out that whenever a documentary came on the TV about WW2 concentration camps, he would walk out of the room, not in denial, but because he had been there and seen it himself. He would say that everytime it came on TV, the smell would come back.


The stench of death.

The stench of misery.

The stench of dehumanisation.


He said he did not need to see it, because he already had, and continued to do so in his dreams.

My Grandmother was in London during the Blitz, watching the cinema with her friends defiantly while the Luftwaffe dropped their bombs, talking matter of factly to me about the London Underground Station that took a direct hit when a bomb slid down the steps to the underground station, detonated, killing scores.


My Great Uncle was a British Merchant Navy man, telling me stories like of how once, when docked at some place or another, they saw another ship's crew they had just played football with prepared to set sail, pulled up it's anchor, but too quickly, as there was a German Mine attached.

My Great Uncle and his crew shouted warnings to the other ship's crew, but it was too late.

The other ship blew up, killing all aboard.

An elderly man I knew at my local pub was part of the Artic Convoys that supplied the Soviet Union at Archangel, he was a humble man, quietly telling stories of how the ship was so cold, if you were not careful when leaning on the handrails, your hands would be welded on them from the cold.


He was married, with a wife and child when he was in the war.

He died this year, aged 97.

There is also a British Para at the pub, old now, but who still has the physical stature and attitide of a tough character.

He fought during WW2, remarking "It was very warm if I remember correctly" referring to German enemy fire.

Then of course there's my mum and dad. My dad, who has always stood up for what he feels is right, and my sister, who is the best sister in the world, and who has had a horrific 15 months for reasons no fault of her own.


There's loads more, but that's it for now.

My Hero?

Well My Grandfather was no saint, but I did admire him in many ways.
However, his accomplishments were both great and small.

He however, isnt my hero.

My Hero is sort of a silly one.
Its my dog.

My dog is almost 13 years old, a Golden retreiver-Samoyed mix.
I got him when I was 18 years old.
Ive always related to animals far better than people, and have always had a way with them, particularly dogs.

When I got Jose, I was growing up, but still pretty angry at the world.
But, one look at that white and brown fuzzy pup and my heart would melt instantly.
Over the years, no matter how severe my depression, or lonely I felt, when I came home at the end of my day, there was Jose to cheer me up and provide love and affection.

Jose has always been an "agressively affectionate" kind of dog.
The kind that would think nothing of bowling you over so that it would be easier to lick your face.
The kind that would demand to sleep on your bed, and then promptly hog the whole bed.
One that insisted upon licking you when your trying to read, and looked hurt when you told him to stop.

I believe that this kind of unconditional love saved my life.
When I was growing up, I honestly feel that If I would not have had that kind of support, when no one else seemed reliable, at least there was always one person who was always thrilled to see me.
No matter what I did, or how much of an asshole I was....that dog loved, and still loves me unconditionally to this day.

Hes my hero.

I've got a very affectionate furry terrier myself... she's great even if she can be annoying at times. Yeah, dogs will love you no matter how much of a jerk you are...

Cathenia

-snip-
Though, I am curious ... is there a "nobody" in your life who matters? Speak up!
Yes. But, weren't you talking about doing a movie a few weeks back? You know what you aughta do...take that camera and a weekend with your grandfather and have him tell his story. Have him show you some photos, tell those stories. Make a record of him that you can pass on. Not that you couldn't do that orally, but you don't have to rely on history to record him, you can do it yourself.

Verle was one of the most interesting cats I've ever met. In his 80s he had just retired from working the Alaskan pipe line. In WWII he was a tug boat operator in the merchant marines, he told the story of a damaged ship sinking and taking the tug with it. He thought he was swimming the width of the ship to get up but turned out swimming the length. He was a moonrunner in the hills before the war. He was an interesting and tough old man. If I started now I could never match up. He died just when I started to get to know him.

my grand father would kick your grand fathers ass any day of the week

My grandfather was SAS and he'd kick both your grandfather's asses hanging from a rope with a sack of bricks on his back.

My grandfather was SAS and he'd kick both your grandfather's asses hanging from a rope with a sack of bricks on his back.
My grandfather used to be a clown....... nothing can beat a clown

My grandfather used to be a clown....... nothing can beat a clown

Depends. The one with the big sad face or the one on the unicycle. SAS is nothing compared to a unicycle.

My Uncle is my hero. He spent most of his life taking care of my grandmother. My father was 4 and my uncle was 15 when their father died. My uncle finished high school and helped support the family through the Great Depression. He never married because he was too busy working to support his family and take care of his sick mother. He took care of her until she died and has always helped his nieces and nephews. Now he is almost 90. He still lives alone and takes the bus to go shopping. I take him shopping every other week to get the heavy things. (I would go more but he has decided this is what he wants) His other nieces and nephews rarely call and most live in another state now. I don't think they have an understanding of what he gave up in order for their father and mine to be able to afford a family and go to school. His sacrifices are amazing especially when you consider that so many of the following generations have made the nursing home business successful and indispensible.

Yes. But, weren't you talking about doing a movie a few weeks back?

Yep! I got some great footage of the old lady I was talking about, too. Some really good stuff. I'll need to subtitle some of it, though. Her accent is thick.

I've been planning on getting footage of my grandfather. I got some great stuff of my wife's grandmother talking about Sicily and coming to America. If I can get a few more subjects, this film may actually come together.

The working title is "American Old". That will change, though.