I clipped the final picture in its place and took a step back. Ten black-and-white photos were meticulously picked after weeks of scrounging through cardboard boxes, plastic bags, and dusty photo albums. They were carefully copied, laminated, and placed on display in my living room.
I observed the faces smiling back at me in those faded photographs. Each picture captured a grandparent or great-grandparent from my family or my husband’s family. Every photograph held its own distinctive and special story. As I stood contemplating these photographs, my mind drifted to what many call “the Greatest Generation.” I was reminded of the men and women from previous generations who have fought in wars to keep our foundation of freedom and protection intact.
When I fixate upon a person from that generation, this is what I see: I see men, real men, who wear button-up plaid shirts and blue jeans. Their strong, weathered hands show years of good, hard work. Their stance is proud and their gaze steady. A handshake is their word and what they say is what they mean.
The women who have stood by these men’s sides through all of their years are tough, yet graceful. They sit in their elegant dresses with their hands folded and a twinkle in their eye. These women could be caring for a brood of children and have a homemade meal ready for you without batting an eye, and they do it all with a smile on their face.
This generation knew how to create and learn with their own mind and their own two hands. They knew how to treat others kindly, and at the center of their lives were God and family. This is the true America I love. I still catch glimpses of it in the present day, although many have sadly forgotten—or were never taught—what has been done for us. However many times it needs to be dusted off, the foundation is still here. The love and pure patriotism for this country, that so many died and risked their lives for, cannot be unrooted so easily.
Back in my living room, my gaze moves above the old photographs to a folded blue triangle of white stars in a wooden display case. This was my grandfather’s flag. Looking at his photograph next to the flag, I see my beaming grandfather as a young man proud to be in his Navy blues. Serving in the Navy at the tender age of 17, he fought in World War II.
The day will forever be etched in my memory when my own father gave me this flag. I can still feel the thickness of emotion in the room as the flag was passed into my hands. I knew deep in my heart the significance of that moment. The brave men and women who have fought and died for our freedom are the heart of this country and why I have an undying love for it. I am grateful for the people who came before us that helped secure a future for myself and my children.
That flag will one day be placed into the hands of my own children, and a story of my grandfather’s life will be told. The grit and determination for liberty will live on.
