I loved my grandfather. He was a dear, wonderful man who loved his grandchildren even more than he loved his children. He wasn't a bad father, but he was an idealist who wanted to save the world, especially if it meant having a few glasses of scotch in the process.
Join me after the flip for the rest of my first diary.
He was born in the first few years of the 1900's, the child of immigrants from Norway. He lived his whole life in New York, 77 of his 96 years in NYC and the rest in the suburbs (within walking distance of his daughter's family). He died back in the 1990's, and had he lived, this administration would have been the end of him.
In the 1920's he joined the National Guard so he could get out the city once in awhile and get to ride horses (no jeeps or tanks back then). He became a school teacher in the city and taught Spanish to countless students.
He almost went to fight Franco in the late 1930's, but my grandmother stopped him from going. He was really a pacifist, but the fascists got to him worse than anything else. Too old to serve during WWII, he led the bond drive at the high school where he worked. The school collected the most of any city school and so a bomber was named after the school.
Throughout his life, he was an active (if minor) member of the communist party. Eventually, he had to give up teaching and take early retirement, otherwise, he would have been fired. At the age of 50 he was unemployed with 2 children and a wife who was also a school teacher. He worked odd jobs, tutored, and drank a lot of scotch with his communist buddies down at the bar, arguing how to change the world, never realizing that perhaps the change starts at home.
Eventually, his wife retired, the children got married and he got to enjoy his grandchildren. Some of my best memories are of him singing labor songs to us, or listening to the 'long black train' record. He also used to beat the pants off of us at games of chess. While my parents worked as successful professionals, he and my grandmother were our constant babysitters. He loved us and played with us and, somehow, without saying anything, made us realize that his early life of trying to change the world was the right cause, but the wrong MO. Change the world by loving your family and move on from there.
My first son is named for my grandfather. He's four and if I can't change the world, I'll love him, his brother and his mother and we'll change the world in our own little way. That's the best part of my grandfather's legecy.
Thanks for joining me in a little remeniscence.