Someone in my family must always give the blessing. And usually there is a storytelling period after dinner. If there is any general silliness, because my family enjoys silliness, this might get in the way of storytelling. If there is to be the presentation of something there is usually a speech.
I’d already offered the blessing and I had no speech. I’d thought of things to say, but nothing I could say seemed simultaneously big enough and small enough for the moment. I can’t explain that, dichotomy, you’ll just have to go along with it. So I said to my grandfather, about his present, that it was from the four of us: my folks, my wife and me. It was something we did, I said, because of how much we cared for him. I finished my speech saying that we’d cared a lot about this project, and that we hoped he liked it, too.
He unwrapped the box, cut the tape from the folds and he flipped them back and looked at this handsome cherry box with a black background and colorful elements inside.
I had the good fortune to sit next to him and tell him what they all meant. He listened closely. He read, for a long time, the certificate that came with the flag we had flown over the U.S. Capitol. It said that it was flown in honor and memory of Tonice, a Christian, husband, father and grandfather, a medic in the 137th Infantry Regiment of the 35th Division, wounded at the Battle of the Bulge. The certificate noted it was flown on the anniversary of the end of the war.
I pointed out what some of the medals meant. I told him that this booklet had a few pages describing what was involved with each of the medals. I said the rest of this booklet was text about the 137th’s time in France and Germany and Belgium while my grandfather’s father was there. It reads day-by-day. Read it at your own pace, I said. Just please promise me you’ll at least read through Christmas Day.
That day’s notes are comforting. It was important to at least read that much.
All of this had been a mystery in the family. Now, for his birthday, my grandfather suddenly had a lot more information about what his dad did in the war. My great-grandfather had never talked about it that much, if at all. And this would have been far too fancy for such a quiet and humble man. But it was important to me to find it and important to all of us to share it with my grandfather.
By the time I started explaining the medals, my grandmother had walked over. She leaned in to see it the display case sitting on his lap. She was eyeing the walls. Where could we display it?
My grandfather is a pretty quiet man, too. He took it all in, and it was a lot to take in. But his reaction was almost inscrutable. When we left last night he gave me a big hug. This wasn’t new. He thanked me again for the display case. He held on a bit longer than normal and thanked me a few more times. That wasn’t why we did it, of course, but it was a hint about how he felt about the thing, and that was gratifying.
Today my grandmother said he read through all of the pages that I’d given him. He’d read awhile, she said, and then show her something. He’d read awhile longer and then show her something else. She’d thanked me last night for making this for him — How often does someone thank you for something you did for a third person? — and today she made sure that we knew how much he was enjoying it.
He got up this morning, she said, and walked around their house staring at all of the walls. She’d asked him what he was doing. He said he was looking for the right place to put the display case. They’d thought, at first, about hanging it over the sofa in their living room. The way their home is laid out this is essentially the center of the universe.
But, he’d decided there might be glare from the window opposite. He found a new place and we installed the display case today.
We realized it is in a place where everyone who walks in their home will see it. We realized it is also in direct view of my grandfather’s recliner.
