Regrets

Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable. - Sidney Harris

Regrets. First of all, I'm regretful that I told MacGyver he could finish off the salsa last night. I didn't have a chance to eat much of a lunch and it's sounding pretty good. To his credit, he did leave a little... about a tablespoon. Thanks, Honey.

But obviously that is not my sole point as you might have been able to tell from my picture and quote. I introduced you to my Grandma recently, please meet my Grandpa, Staff Sergeant Hubble in the 101st airborne.

It's not just a lack of imagination that causes me to keep going back to my roots. I'm a firm believer in learning from the mistakes of those who have gone before you. I'm also writing a novel based on my grandparent's life so I'm a bit obsessed at the moment.

There was an unspoken rule between Grandpa and everyone else in the family. Ask him to teach you how to play tennis, he'd have you on the court chasing balls within minutes. Same went for basketball, fixing cars, singing some old time country songs, exploring creeks or training animals. Ask him to come to your piano recital or high school play he'd show up an hour early and scope out a spot to videotape every gripping moment. Ask him about his parents and he'd take you to see his mom and videotape everything she had to say.

But don't ask about the war.

Who knows, maybe this was a mistaken vibe that we all received and then no one ever asked so he never spoke of it. It's possible. But in all the time I ever spent with my Grandpa, all the endless concerts he showed up for and taped like I was surely the next Debbie Gibson (Brittany Spears for all you younger folks,)I don't once remember him saying a single thing about the war.

He must have said something to someone, most likely my Grandma who spilled the beans later on, because we do know a few basic facts. He signed up to be a paratrooper. He steered himself into a tree when the colorblind test came up so he would get through anyway even though the only color he could see was yellow. He became a Staff Sergeant. He learned how to play poker and blackjack on the long boat ride over to England. (Which then to my mother and aunt's dismay he proceeded to teach every one of his nine grandchildren.) A couple of the soldiers under him were playing with a grenade when they reached their destination in England and he ended up with a leg full of shrapnel.

Oh, and everyone in his group died in North Africa. Everyone except him.

As I've been considering the mind of my grandparents for this book, I'm starting to see a picture of who this man I so adored might have been. He started out a scrawny little baby, weighing in at 3 pounds at birth. I think he spent the rest of his life trying to prove he was strong enough. And when he came home and lived to be 86 and all of his comrades never saw American shores again, I think he felt guilty.

I look at all the things that happened and know that obviously God was protecting him, because he had a different plan for his life. His plans included a wife, two daughters, nine grandchildren and 26 great-grandchildren (and counting.)I'm not so sure that's the way Grandpa saw it. He saw a group full of men he was responsible for who all died fighting a fight he was supposed to be a part of because he wasn't able to stop those men from fooling around that day.

If I'd had the audacity to ask while he was still here, and if he'd told me this, I'd tell him that he was the biggest, bravest grandpa a girl ever had. That I was proud of his patch, his jump wings, and his purple heart, and that he was a good soldier.

I'm sure Jesus has told him as much. I don't think he's sweating it too much these days. But I'll take his regret and apply it to the things that bug me the most in this life, and share them with my children no matter how hard it might be.

I see God's faithfulness in the lives my grandparents lived. I see him continue to work in the lives of those of us that follow behind them. And I think of the words my Grandpa's pastor spoke to him once upon a time when Grandpa asked why God doesn't answer all of our questions. Something to the effect of:

"Isn't he big enough that you can learn to trust him to ascertain when you need to know something and when you don't?"

Thanks for the legacy, Grandpa. Proud of you. Love you.