The Women
There were three women in my life as a child. My mother. My father’s mother, and her mother. The latter two were widows for most of my life. My grandfather died in ‘52 and my great-grandfather in ’47. My grandmother and her mother were stout, Texas, pioneer women. They thrived on family. Whenever we came to Texas on our travels across the country, it always involved a get-together. There was laughter and love, and fried chicken on Sunday.
My mother was a pioneer of another sort. Her mother died when she was young, and her overburdened father put the kids in a home and died shortly thereafter. My mother survived. She became a registered nurse. Joined the Navy. Was an officer. Met my father. Had four boys with him and trundled us across the country on move after move. She gave me my religion. It was her shelter and mine. She died when I was 21 and off to serve my country in the footsteps of my parents.
It's difficult to encapsulate what I learned from them, to make it small and understandable. But I’ll give it a go. Basically, I think I learned resilience. Life can deal you hard blows. Husbands die. Mother’s die. Economies collapse. Countries go to war. But in the end there’s always that small piece of ground where you stand, where you live, and you can make of it what you will, even if the only thing you have to light it up is a smile.
Part 18, Living in America: An Old Man’s Journey into His Past