Band Of Brothers

My father’s father was nicknamed “Shine.” It wasn’t because it rhymed with William Leonard Thrasher. It was because of his spirit and his soul. And his smile. There’s a street in Greenville, South Carolina named after him: “Shine’s Alley.”

Some say I'm a lot him.

If only.

Recently I’ve been thinking of my grandfather. A lot. Of course, because of a project. I share projects on this blog because I try to keep the other parts of my life to myself. Most of the time I succeed.

I'm in the middle of a project that's made me think of my grandfather. I called him Papa. He served under General Patton's Third Army in World War 2. He drove a dozer tank in that army. One day, if I have the great fortune to do so, I want to tell a story based on Papa. The title of the book already has a name and an address.

I've been thinking of him as I write a story about a soldier. I can't say anything about this story--not yet. Hopefully I'll be able to soon.

I recently subscribed to HBO to watch their new miniseries, "The Pacific." I'm also rewatching "Band of Brothers," the best miniseries I've ever seen.

The older I get, the more I begin to understand the service and the sacrifice of our Armed Services. Not just in World War 2, but during any era. Especially our era.

I still can barely imagine my grandfather going over to Europe to help fight in the great war. It's hard to imagine a world at war and all the horrors and atrocities during that time.

My grandfather was a hero, like the men in Easy Company. Like the soldiers serving our country now in Iraq and Afghanistan and other places.

I try to imagine what it's like, to walk in their boots, to sweat in their skin, to bleed with them. But still, it's impossible. I can only do that: imagine. Imagine and be thankful.

I wish I could tell my grandfather how proud I am of what he did.

Sentence by sentence, I try. In my own little way.

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