Grandpa's War Box
In the basement of my grandparents house was a closet. In that closet were myriad things. Old coats, boots, suitcases, and in the back on the floor was my grandfather’s World War II box of memories. As I child I begged him to bring it out whenever I came over. He must have shown me its contents fifty times but I don’t remember the first. The first time he would have chosen to open that box.
I never felt any emotion from him when exploring the contents. There was never a tear in his eye or a tremolo in his voice. At first, he would pick up an item, such as a Purple Heart and explain what it was and why a soldier would receive one. He never explained why he received his. To this day, I don’t know if I knew enough not to ask or if I just was too vacant to think of it. Apart from the Purple Heart, he has a Bronze Star, and a few others. Each was saved in a long leather covered box that snapped shut if closed too quickly. The medals were presented on a yellow satin.
Also in his box was a lighter that needed fluid and flint, a bayonet, and a Nazi officers cap. He explained how the bayonet was supposed to be a fixed to the end of the rifle, but he never said if he used it. The cap was the most odd and I didn’t ever want to know how he came by that. He never said either. His stories must have been endless and in some way he needed me to know that he had been through something. He also knew it was not appropriate to tell me as a young child.
We put things away and went on with our evenings. It went like this for a long time. Eventually, I stopped showing interest in the box and on a rare occasion I took it out to look for myself.
When he passed, my mom asked if I wanted the Nazi officers cap. I said yes until it appeared at my house. Once there, it became real and I left it in the garage until I told my mom to come get it. In the context of grandpa it held no power. Without him it repulsed me.
I never learned much about how my grandfather fared in the war. I knew he was a Sargent and had soldiers under him. But, there were no stories. Perhaps the box was the only way in which he could share the experience without scaring his grandson. The only way he could say I love my family and this is what I endured so you can be safe here now with me.
