The Footlocker Pa Left Me – A Memoire
In books and movies, grandparents play a vital role of support. Reality does not always imitate art.
My maternal grandfather, named Robert and known as Bob to most and 'Pa' to his grandchildren was the son of Julia Kazlauskas and Alfred Page. He was born in 1925 in Worcester MA. He joined the US Navy in 1942 and served in South America until 1944 when he joined the Army Air Corps, which later became the US Air Force. This meant he served in 3 Branches of the US Military. While he was stationed in Alaska, he sent for and married my grandmother there in 1951. After serving around the world over the next twenty years, he retired in north Texas in 1970 after 26 years and would spend the rest of his life there dividing his time between home with the Price Is Right, crossword puzzles and Miller Lite, the commissary where he worked part time, and the VFW. He really liked the VFW.
We were never close. Certainly not in that way that grandchildren are to their grandparents. I see stories where grandfather teaches the young boy how to fish, how to hunt, how to white or carve, farm. Or just to laugh together. The only thing I learned From my grandfather was how to drink and how to have oily messes in the driveway.
Why? What happened to this man that made him so distant? That broke his family. Though I must admit, he managed to stay together with my grandmother for more than 60 years. So bravo there. Maybe I did learn the concept of determination. Or maybe it was just a matter of having nowhere else to go.
I can still see his silhouette stumbling down the hallway night after night. He was a mean drunk, not abusive, but not the kind of jolly person I have come to associate with those who drink.
He never talked about his time in the military... So, I know nothing about his time in South America or any combat he may have seen. I do know that he worked on military aircraft as a mechanic. Which is funny, I don't recall him being a particularly good auto mechanic. My own father's ability and knowledge certainly surpassed my own grandfathers. And you would think the two might be close, since my paternal grandfather passed away when my dad was only 9. But I can't recall a single conversation my dad and my grandfather ever had. I honestly don't remember them ever being in the same room together. How strange.
My grandparents were never rich. I'm not sure it is safe to say they were poor... middle, middle class probably. Just your average Air Force retiree in North Texas. They were able to keep the lights on, but never drove flashy cars or had nice things.
My mom says that anything of value or benefit they did have, they spent on my uncle Steve. And it showed. He was always a spoiled jerk.
Uncle Steve is only 9 years older than me (Feb 14, 1963), so he was more of an angry peer than a real uncle. And he was SO angry. It always felt as though my sisters and I were his private audience for bullying and... well, let's leave it at 'it wasn't a pleasant part of life.'
Like grandfathers, I can't say I've ever had a good relationship from an aunt or an uncle. They are all distorted experiences. Things of drama and trauma, not happiness.
In 2011, Alfred passed away (3/6/2011). Reports from my sisters and cousins were that in the last few years, Alfred sobered and became quite amiable, even an enjoyable personality with which to spend time. Having cauterized that relationship many years before, I never knew the man in this state. It is a loss to us both, for sure.
I do count it as a blessing that my Grandmother asked me to perform his funeral. It was a simple affair at the graveside, my grandfathers coffin draped in the customary American flag of a veteran. I don't recollect why my grandmother allowed this. Likely it was a combination of his own wishes and my uncle Steve, who always dreamed of being a military man.
After his death, I learned to no surprise that there was nothing to inherit but debt.
Debt. That's the theme of the gift my family has given me. Emotional debt, trauma debt, debt of love. The ability to turn a dollar into a dime is our specialty. The ability to ruin the dearest relationships. The ability to make poor choice after poor choice. I am a barely functional, though usually useful person. Look upon my riches.
The other thing my grandfather left me was a footlocker. He had written my name on a sticky note and put it on the box. It was his from his time in the Korean Conflict. I remember it from my early childhood as something locked away in a closet that we weren't supposed to touch.
So I brought it home. Well, my mother took it to her house and I went to collect it. While I was there picking it up, my cousin (Steve's son) Kyle Page showed up and laid claim to it by right of his time as a marine. He loudly asserted that because I was 'only a civilian' and didn't understand the brotherhood of those who serve. In his mind I didn't really deserve that relic from the military.
I called baloney on his claim. If it was a gift, it was a gift. Period.
There is no room for conversation in the brotherhood of the military. You are in or you are not. Kyle spent 2-3 years fighting middle-eastern men, only to be blown up driving a humvee and spend the rest of his days on the couch playing call of duty and smoking weed to 'cope with the pain'.
So, I relinquished it to him. Possession of a thing just wasn't worth the emotional hassle. Enjoy that box, Kyle.
The last piece of my grandfather came to me after the death of my grandmother, Penny (8/27/26-4/5/2016). It was in the form of photos. Most of which I had never seen. The life-choices of my sisters and cousins and their close association with my grandparents kept me away for decades, and unfortunately that meant I missed out on a lot of those experiences. But I was happy to have some exposure even if it was a day late and a dollar short.
The Bible ensures a resurrection of the unrighteousness... I never expected to live long enough in this current system to see so many family members fall prey to death, but they have. A silver lining is that having doe so, they all potentially qualify to see life again.
If I am there, no doubt I'll offer a good-natured 'I told you so'. And if not, well, I pray they'll get it right the second time around.