I don't know when it began. 8th grade? Somewhere around then. Seeing the photos of the men quivering with shell shock. Listening to the poems of the lost generation. It might have simply been the staggering statistics. "How could a MILLION die in one single battle?"
My preteen self was hooked.
I don't want to say it's been the love that has lasted a lifetime, because 'love' is a strange word to use with war. Let's try obsession instead. :)
When I went to college, I majored in History and when I was to student teach, somehow I managed to get a position with the Department of Defense. In Belgium. Big surprise - right where the brave boys of Europe had bled out on the battlefields of "The Great War."
So my clueless, Junior Year of College self is riding on a train in Belgium, en route to her destination, and I settle myself down in a train compartment. Think Hogwarts Express but with fewer steam engines and way more bodily odors.
As soon as I'm seated an elderly gentleman joins me. Just he and I in the car. I give him a polite nod. He returns my insincere gesture and the train chugs out of the station.
Except ... we begin to talk. He could sense my obvious excitement at being in the place that, up til now, I'd only read about in my textbooks.
"Have you been to Belgium before?" he asks, politely.
"Never. But I've studied it. You know."
"I don't know. You've studied...Belgium?"
"I'm a History teacher. Well, on my way to becoming one. And Belgium. World War One. It's kind of exciting."
He didn't say anything for a while. Then, eventually, "I fought in World War One."
Me, "No way!" Ok, in retrospect, I could have been more refined. But it was better than "Get out!" Or "You're shitting me!"
As I remember, he nodded and smiled.
"Ypres? Ypres fascinates me."
His eyes took on a distant look. "I was there."
"For the first battle, or the second?"
"The first, thank God."
"No kidding!" I agree.
We continue speaking in a language meant for uber history geeks or veterans - from... well the coast of Belgium to Brussels. It must have been at least an hour. I had questions and he had insight. It was marvelous. No, it was life-changing.
When the train pulled into the Brussels station, it was with real regret that I told him I had to change trains, to Mons. We both knew the battle significance of Mons and exchanged a knowing glance.
"I... may I...?" It was strange to see him stammer after he'd been so composed and full of details about his exciting battles.
I waited for him to continue. "It may seem abrupt, but it's been so long since I've kissed a young girl. Would you mind, terribly, if I gave you a kiss?"
"Are you kidding?" I asked. "A chance to kiss a soldier from the Great War? It's my lucky day!"
He brushed his lips against mine. They weren't creepy or clammy or old. His lips felt sweet. Genuine. Kind of heroic.
I thanked him for his time and lugged my suitcase off the overhead rack.
I never knew his name, but I've never forgotten him either. Thank you, sweet old man, for showing me there was more to you than your exterior. And for inspiring a few generations with your courage.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Nobody Likes the DMV
I had to go to the DMV recently to register all those requirements for the state I'd just moved to. And it made me remember another time, another DMV trip, a few years back. I managed to find myself in line wearing my husband's swim trunks, a white pump and a brown wedge shoe and holding a snake in a tupperware container. Looking around, I had to recognize, "Most people probably wouldn't find themselves in this situation. I should work on that."
How did I come to find myself there, wearing that, holding that? Like anything, really. A series of small not-so-bright decisions that added up until I found myself inadvertently scaring people at a government office. The swim trunks? Someone knocked on my door bright and early that morning. I threw on the closest things around to answer the door. Besides, I reasoned, men's swim trunks could pass for shorts, right? (My husband assures me, wrong.) The person at the door turned out to be my proper British friend, Jackie, who was dropping off her daughter, the equally proper Glynnis, for a play date with my daughter. I got on with my day and pretty much forgot about the swim trunks.
Then a few surprises happened quickly. My daughter, the nature lover, found a garter snake in our front garden. Joy! Glynnis was properly horrified, but it was my duty to teach her the joys of nature, so I kicked on the two handiest shoes around (pump and wedge, but hey, they were for the correct feet, so give me some credit) and armed with tupperware, went out to capture said snake, who we planned on releasing after an hour or two.
Right at that moment my husband phoned. "You have twenty minutes to get to the DMV or we'll have to go through a huge process to reregister our cars in the state! Please go now!" Knowing the DMV was fifteen minutes away, there wasn't a second to spare - so I loaded up the kids and tore off.
My daughter was the one who lugged the snake into the DMV, not wanting to leave it in the car on a hot summer day. Once she stepped into the room, she was greeted with a wall of uncomfortable stares. (Snakes, as it turns out, do not sit quietly in tupperware, but tend to slither around in a very enthusiastic manner.) As a six-year-old, the collective hatred of everyone in the DMV was a lot to handle so, in the grand tradition of children everywhere, she pawned the thing off on me.
And there I stood. Two different shoes, swim trunks, and a snake who was doing his damnest to knock the lid off the tupperware.
The crowd just stared and the two men ahead of me in line, scooted as far away as they could get, casting nervous glances back at me. "Ha, ha!" I said. "Lid's on tight!" I said. My fellow DMVers expressions subtly shifted from 'irritation' to 'we-may-have-a-looney-on-our-hands.'
Glynnis whispered loudly up to me. "Aren't you afraid all these people are going to think you're crazy?"
"Yes, Glynnis. Yes, I am."
When a first grader is giving you advice in how to act around others, it might be time to reconsider your decision making process. Just perhaps.
On the plus side, that day Glynnis learned a valuable lesson: when it came to play dates, snakes might not necessarily be the biggest thing she needed to worry about! Just passing out life-lessons to the next generation - that's me.
How did I come to find myself there, wearing that, holding that? Like anything, really. A series of small not-so-bright decisions that added up until I found myself inadvertently scaring people at a government office. The swim trunks? Someone knocked on my door bright and early that morning. I threw on the closest things around to answer the door. Besides, I reasoned, men's swim trunks could pass for shorts, right? (My husband assures me, wrong.) The person at the door turned out to be my proper British friend, Jackie, who was dropping off her daughter, the equally proper Glynnis, for a play date with my daughter. I got on with my day and pretty much forgot about the swim trunks.
Then a few surprises happened quickly. My daughter, the nature lover, found a garter snake in our front garden. Joy! Glynnis was properly horrified, but it was my duty to teach her the joys of nature, so I kicked on the two handiest shoes around (pump and wedge, but hey, they were for the correct feet, so give me some credit) and armed with tupperware, went out to capture said snake, who we planned on releasing after an hour or two.
Right at that moment my husband phoned. "You have twenty minutes to get to the DMV or we'll have to go through a huge process to reregister our cars in the state! Please go now!" Knowing the DMV was fifteen minutes away, there wasn't a second to spare - so I loaded up the kids and tore off.
My daughter was the one who lugged the snake into the DMV, not wanting to leave it in the car on a hot summer day. Once she stepped into the room, she was greeted with a wall of uncomfortable stares. (Snakes, as it turns out, do not sit quietly in tupperware, but tend to slither around in a very enthusiastic manner.) As a six-year-old, the collective hatred of everyone in the DMV was a lot to handle so, in the grand tradition of children everywhere, she pawned the thing off on me.
And there I stood. Two different shoes, swim trunks, and a snake who was doing his damnest to knock the lid off the tupperware.
The crowd just stared and the two men ahead of me in line, scooted as far away as they could get, casting nervous glances back at me. "Ha, ha!" I said. "Lid's on tight!" I said. My fellow DMVers expressions subtly shifted from 'irritation' to 'we-may-have-a-looney-on-our-hands.'
Glynnis whispered loudly up to me. "Aren't you afraid all these people are going to think you're crazy?"
"Yes, Glynnis. Yes, I am."
When a first grader is giving you advice in how to act around others, it might be time to reconsider your decision making process. Just perhaps.
On the plus side, that day Glynnis learned a valuable lesson: when it came to play dates, snakes might not necessarily be the biggest thing she needed to worry about! Just passing out life-lessons to the next generation - that's me.
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