My Uncle

As I mentioned a funeral kicked this Blog into cyberspace. My quiet feather gray-haired uncle died on Thanksgiving Day at age 84. In his obit, he was described as a purple heart 3 bronze battle star hero from World War 2. My uncle? He was quiet and worked for 30 some years making headlights and TV tubes at Sylvania. He owned a Willie's jeep and gave us rides in it. He was the silent supporter, who gave me a summer job painting a house he rented out to others. He helped drive when my two aunts and their husbands drove 13 hours to visit their nephew at his first pastorate.

My cousin in law heard some of the rest of the story 15 years ago. He was interviewing Uncle Louie for a college project. During this interview, he brought down the medals and told stories. Once again his memory rattled with NAZI machine gun fire aimed his way in the mountains of Italy. The shrapnel of a grenade burned again in his side as he shielded his buddies from the blast. Louie the courageous battled the NAZIs and lived to hide the tale.

I wonder "What are we going to do when these heroes are all gone?" Yet could such silent Atlases be rising from the wounded GIs in Iraq today? I have learned what my uncle went through to galvanize his character. I can relive my own aches and foibles, which have shaped me. What will I watch my kids go through to burnish them into high quality individuals?