Me standing in front of the same statue as my grandfather did in Cuba after returning from WWII...we weighed the same amount.
This Veteran’s Day is the first one since my grandfather; a Veteran and Ex Prisoner of World War II, passed away. Since he’s been gone, I’ve traveled with his Ex Prisoner of War hat to fourteen countries, as a lucky charm, and to always remind myself where I come from.
Wearing my grandpa’s ex-POW hat at the Great Wall of China, one of the fourteen countries I’ve worn it so far since he’s been gone.
The “where I come from” part has been quite the journey to figure out, but it’s something that I encourage everyone to invest time in doing, because it’s truly a treasure to relive your family’s history, and keep its legacy alive. So, in honor of my proud Veteran grandpa, and all fallen soldiers of war, I’d like to share a piece of my own story of tracing my family’s history to help inspire you to do the same; my grandfather’s time at war.
Last year I went on an incredible journey to Cuba in search of my family’s roots, guided by a hidden journal my grandma wrote that I found after she passed away. With the help of the little journal, some of my family members who still live in the little town she grew up in in Cuba, and a start-up magazine that believed in my story, I was able to travel back in time, and re-live my grandma’s life in Cuba from the 1920’s to 1950’s.
The first page of my grandma’s hidden journal about her life growing up in Cuba
I walked in the house she was born in, where the same avocado tree I can see in photos from the 1950’s still exists. I peaked through the front gates of the school she went to, that she always mentioned being teased at for being extremely poor. I walked circles through the park in front of the church, which is how she said her and her friends would meet boys. And I stood in front of the same statue in the park that my grandfather did after he returned from the war, and won my grandmother’s heart.
But while I re-lived my grandmother’s glory days in Havana during the year before my grandfather swept her off her feet, where she wrote about times being good in Cuba, with lots of money, opportunities, and fun; there was another side of the story taking place.
My grandfather was fighting in World War II, and later became a tortured Prisoner of War. My grandmother wrote about it briefly, saying how she became worried when they started hearing names on the radio of U.S. soldiers being taken as prisoners, one of which was eventually my grandfather’s. But she didn’t say much else about it in her journal except for when he came back to Cuba a year later, she finally saw him as a man, and they started dating.
Read the full story about my time travel trip to Cuba here!
My grandmother and I around the same age in the same area of Havana along the Malecon.
Like most veterans of the war, my grandpa would never tell me anything about it, except for little comments like, “You look as skinny as I did when I came out of the prison weighing 98 pounds”.
He kept traits from that tormented time like always clearing his plate, and mine too whenever I ate next to him. He also always wore his Ex-Prisoner of War hat on every veterans holiday, including the one he spoke the most about; D-Day.
He was always so proud to wear that hat, which is why, when he passed away last year, I kept it, and now proudly wear it for him on those holidays, and for a photo in every country I travel to. But wearing the hat made me want to know more about my grandfather’s time at war and as a prisoner. I felt like it was my duty to honor him by learning about the harsh truths he’d never talk about. I won’t pretend for a second that I ever paid attention in any history class in school, which is why I decided to go to the very place where my grandpa fought in and was captured by war; Normandy Beach, France.
The last Vetaran’s Day my grandpa wore his Ex- POW hat
Boarding the MS Venture river boat made me try to visualize what the army ship he boarded looked like. Obviously my ship was a lot more luxurious, but walking up the silver gradient ramp in the icy Northern France air gave me a chill to think about what must have been going through my grandpa’s head when he boarded the ship for the same area. I had chosen that ship because it specialized in WWII history, and included a history class on board which…I also had a hard time understanding.
Luckily though, my lack of attention span led me to ask my mom if she ever found anything that my grandpa wrote before he died, like I had asked him to so many times. Not surprisingly, she said no, but she did finally get his story out verbally, which she wrote in a clear version. I started reading it on the bus to Normandy Beach, and by the time I stepped off, I felt like I had stepped back in time.
The beach would have looked like a regular beach, had I not read the story (and had a really enthusiastic tour guide). But instead I kept visualizing ships on the ocean’s horizon, and the sound of fighter planes overhead. At one point, an actual old fighter jet flew by, thoroughly scaring the crap out of me, but making me feel like I was looking through my grandpa’s eyes. I proudly put on his Ex Prisoner of War hat, and paraded around the chilly but suddenly sunny beach in triumph as if I was avenging him from the time he was captured.
This of course caused a lot of attention from the rest of the guests on the tour; many of which lived through the time of World War II who both applauded and sympathized with my freedom march. I knew it was probably a rare sight to see, but what I didn’t realize until visiting the War cemetery with over 200,000 soldiers, is that it was rare because there aren’t many grandchildren of the men who went to war.
That’s because most of the men were in their early 20’s, and killed before they ever had the chance to start a family. It made me feel extraordinarily lucky to have had the chance to not only meet my grandpa, but spend so much time forming an irreplaceable bond with him.
WWII Cemetery in Normandy Beach, France
To meet a man who went to war for a country he didn’t even call home (he lived in Cuba and had no clue he was born a U.S. citizen until he was 13), who learned English just to join the army, and who did it all for the love of a woman, is one of my greatest honors. I don’t want to expose too many details about how mistreated he and the other U.S. soldiers were by the Germans in prison. Or how they were taken to a special camp after they were freed to get fattened up before returning to the U.S. in an attempt to hide the harsh realities of what was actually happening over there.
I just want to wear my grandpa’s hat proudly, and make sure his legacy lives on. You should do the same for your family!