In rememberance
November 11 marks Veteran's Day in the US and Rememberance Day in Canada. It's a time to think about all the men and women who fought and died in wars.
Around this time of year, I think about the stories my parents would tell my siblings and me about the second World War. Both my parents were very young at the time but they remember horrific details of things that occurred during those years of their lives in the Philippines. They would recount walking past the bodies of neighbors killed by the Japanese. They would tell us how Japanese soldiers would make a game of killing infants in front of their screaming mothers. They would tell stories about how my grandparents would hide American soldiers in the cellars and sheds behind their homes, keeping them secret from the Japanese soldiers who would patrol the streets. The American soldiers would call my grandfather "Pop" and give my mom and her sisters Baby Ruth chocolate bars. My grandparents risked their lives, and the lives of their children, to shelter and feed those American soldiers; any Filipino civilian found aiding American soldiers were beaten and, usually, killed.
As I walk the streets in Boston, I sometimes wonder if any of the people I pass are related to one of the American soldiers who took shelter in my grandparents' homes. I wonder if they would ever guess the invisible ties that bind us: we are here today because of what our ancestors did for each other.
Around this time of year, I think about the stories my parents would tell my siblings and me about the second World War. Both my parents were very young at the time but they remember horrific details of things that occurred during those years of their lives in the Philippines. They would recount walking past the bodies of neighbors killed by the Japanese. They would tell us how Japanese soldiers would make a game of killing infants in front of their screaming mothers. They would tell stories about how my grandparents would hide American soldiers in the cellars and sheds behind their homes, keeping them secret from the Japanese soldiers who would patrol the streets. The American soldiers would call my grandfather "Pop" and give my mom and her sisters Baby Ruth chocolate bars. My grandparents risked their lives, and the lives of their children, to shelter and feed those American soldiers; any Filipino civilian found aiding American soldiers were beaten and, usually, killed.
As I walk the streets in Boston, I sometimes wonder if any of the people I pass are related to one of the American soldiers who took shelter in my grandparents' homes. I wonder if they would ever guess the invisible ties that bind us: we are here today because of what our ancestors did for each other.
posted by Margie at 9:42 PM
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