Distant Memories Part II .......a boy, a man, a war and a family

Part II....a boy, a man, a war and a family

Many, like Tom Brokaw, have written about World War II and the Greatest Generation that the war produced.  I think Tom is right, the survivors were an amazing generation of "can do" individuals.  On the other hand, WW II took a lot from many families in the United States and countries all over the world.  That is the “Hell part” of war that we don’t like to talk about, the personal loss to millions of people.  Those lost lives impacted the lives of wives, parents, and of course, their children. It is estimated that the deaths of more than 406,000 men left an estimated 183,000 American children fatherless.  I can identify with that loss.

Since I never met my dad, I wondered a lot about what he was like as a person, but had little information to hang my hat on.  Despite that lack of information, I think my needs for a dad were met by others in the family.  My grandmother was my “father figure” at home, and there were always uncles and other male role models who influenced me at school and church.  Even the dads of my close friends became role models for me.  As a result, I think I adopted the roles and behaviors that seemed to work best for me. 

I have gleaned a little insight into my dad’s family and the type of man he was from folks who knew him.  He was born in the small town of Rockwood, Tennessee, just down the road from where I grew up.  He had two older brothers, Clarence, the oldest, and Jim, the middle boy.  Clarence followed his father’s career path and stayed in Kentucky , mined coal, and met an early death from a mining accident.  Jim is the only one I really knew.  Uncle Jim lived in Harriman, was a barber, lived to be 94,  a bit unusual and quaint, but a good man.  Jim never owned a car during his 94 years, but he once told me he had a job as a young man driving a truck.  I learned that my dad’s mom played the piano and guitar.  None of the three boys got much education beyond 7^th or 8^th grade.  Uncle Jim said they moved so much they hardly got started in school before they had to move to another town.  The moves apparently happened due to his dad’s occupation as a coal miner, coupled with a drinking problem.  He apparently was a skilled coal miner and had no trouble getting jobs and moved frequently throughout the coal mining regions of Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee.  Both of dad’s parents died fairly young; his mom with a stroke, around age 50 and his dad soon afterwards from pneumonia. This was just shortly before Ruby and Phillip were married. 

My dad worked at different jobs as a teenager, but was working as a knitter in the Burlington Hosiery Mill in Harriman when he met Ruby.  Aunt Cammie, Jim’s wife, as well as my Uncle CT say that my dad was easy to get along with.  He must have had a friendly personality and was easy to get to know.  He made friends with a British family living in Wilts, England while he was stationed there during the War.  That family sent me a birthday card on my 1st birthday.  They also sent me two stuffed animals, a black Scottie dog and a teddy bear dressed like Uncle Sam. I still have the Scottie dog tucked away in a storage chest.

My mom and dad met at a recreation hall in Harriman where he worked part-time after his mill shift.  He proposed to Ruby one day and they were married almost immediately.  Ruby said she was afraid that if she waited, he might change his  mind. They were married by a Justice of the Peace on Ruby’s lunch hour in a downtown department store in Harriman.  Their life together lasted less than a year before he was drafted and sent to boot camp in Georgia.  They were married in June 1941 and he went to boot camp in April 1942. 

I don’t know about my dad’s spiritual dimension, but Ruby said he was saved through the efforts of her mother’s witnessing to him.  I can certainly see my grandmother Zena talking to him about his salvation.  She is the one who talked to me about my own relationship with God when I was a young boy of seven or eight.

When you grow up with no physical memories of your father and few tangible artifacts, sometimes you begin to doubt what you've been told.  You begin to wonder.... "Was he really my father?"  "Was I adopted?" "Are these people raising me really my family?"  

In recent months, grandson Luke has gotten me interested in exploring our family tree.  Via the technology of Ancestry.com, visitation to cemetery sites, and shared information from archival sources we’re piecing together an interesting web of the Kindred family tree.  For the first time in my life I am catching a glimpse of my past and the lives of my Kindred ancestors.  It has given me a better sense of who I am and what it means to be a part of a family I never really knew.

As I’ve grow older I have begun to realize that a lot of the "stuff" I thought was so important in my youth is really not worth much.  It is only our relationships with others that seem to have real value.  Someone once told me that everybody we encounter becomes a small part of us and I think that is probably true.  But of course, it is our family relationships that shape our individual profiles and make us who we truly are.

My wife talks a lot about “creating memories” with our children and grandchildren and I think she is right.  As we live each day we are creating memories.  As we love our family, we are creating memories.  As we learn from our experiences, we are creating memories.  As we spend time with our family members we are creating relationships that will endure.  All of these memorable experiences shape the legacy each of us will leave. 

May the Kindred legacy be a good one!

Now let’s ramble!