My dearest Mildred...

2nd February, 1917

My dearest Mildred,

It has been far too long since I have written, and even longer since I have gazed upon your beautiful skin.  I long for the time when we can be in each others warm embrace again. Its not so much your embrace that I cherish, it is the warmth.  The memories of the warmth are the only thing that keeps me going during this horrible winter.  We spend much of day digging trenches (above) and fighting off the rats.  The rats here are as big as dogs.  We are in the middle of somewhere France, called Park Ridge.  Translated to English its pronounced Park Ridge.  I have never been this cold in my life.  The cold numbs you to the bone and it seems that it is impossible to warm up. There is no more room for the snow.  We are all tapped out.  You actually warm up a little when we have to dig more trenches, but then the cold just returns in full.

I miss you Mildred, I wish this damned war was over. We consider it a victory if we can dig 10 yards. 10 yards is progress. I'm not sure this war will ever end with this mentality. I have been fighting for seemingly six months now, and I don't know how much more snow I can bear. I don't feel any pride in digging snow for my country. All day long all I see is people digging and I think I am next? Will I be digging tomorrow? I see people jump up out of the trenches alive and then two seconds later fall back down dead from frostbite. Two weeks ago while sitting in the trenches someone started yelling Snow! Snow! In that instant I feared for my life. I grabbed a snow mask, hoping that I would get it on in time, so that I would live to see another day. There aren't enough snow masks for everyone so I had to watch my friend freeze from the snow. I can't believe I am here and I wake up every morning wondering if I will wake up tomorrow. Pray that the war is over soon and I am able to return home alive.

Pray for peace, pray for our health, pray for an end to this struggle, but most of all, pray for an end to the snow.

With all my love,

Thomas

So I will dance with Cinderella....

Today is a sort of say day in the Ayers household.  Today is the day that Brooke is shipping out the Irish dancing dresses that the girls had worn for their competition.  Irish dancing was an activity that I really loved the girls participating in.  It was a rare sport that three of the girls could do together.  The activity gave us an excuse to travel together to competitions in Wisconsin, Kentucky, and Tennessee.  It gave our parents excuses to travel to see all of us, to be together.  Irish dancing gave my girls a connection to a part of their heritage that I believe is very important.  Their great grandmother (God rest her sainted Irish soul) would have loved to see them Irish dance, just as she always made Burbon square dance.  My parents used to cook Irish food for my class in grade school, I studied abroad in Ireland during college, and Brooke and I spent our honeymoon in the land where the term originated (so they claim), Ireland.  Irish history has always been big part of my life.

So you can imagine that the move up north was softened a bit when we realized the girls had plenty of opportunities to Irish dance. Opportunities that were much more scarce in Lexington.  Very quickly after our move up here we found a good dance school to affiliate with.  Before long, we were marching in parades, racking up medals, and buying very expensive dance dresses.

Then something changed.  Irish dancing is not something you can just fall out of bed and do.  The girls were moving up in the ranks which required more practice.  For the first time in their lives, they were forced to practice something every day.  I used the term forced very specifically.  What was once fun, turned into a pain for Brooke to get them to do.  The girls would go through the motions every day, just to get the practice done.

This past September we had a competition in Nashville.  We knew this would be a good opportunity for the girls to medal and move up a rank.  The farther south you go, the weaker the competition is.  Of all the competitions the girls had done, in all of the games they have played, they never looked as disinterested as they did in Nashville.  It was horribly disappointing/embarrassing for Brooke and I.  Not because they didn't do well, but because we knew they did not try their best.  All four grandparents were there to watch them "half ass" it.  The car ride home was not a pleasant one for the girls.  Poor Hadley had nothing to do with it, yet she had to sit there and take it too.  We were....teaching...the girls a lesson about life. No matter what, you always give your best effort.  We talked about the effort it took for all of us to get down there, the money it took, the time, etc. etc. for them to sleep walk through their performance.  We were at a crossroads with Irish dancing.

There were a few more practices and private lessons after that.  Brooke refused to make them practice on their own, so as you can imagine, the daily practices stopped.  It was time to move on. We couldn't make them do something they did not want to do.  It was a tough moment for me for a lot of reasons. I wasn't sure how I felt about it really.  I felt like they were giving up, something I didn't want to let them do.  In the end, if my first desire is for them is to be happy, I had to let it go.  Did I want them to Irish dance for me, or for them?

I remember the time when I told my father that I wanted to give up playing baseball (a sport I was good at) to play soccer (a sport I ended up being good at).  I think it sort of broke his heart.  Baseball was something that he did with his father and it made him happy to pitch to me.  I also remember how with relative ease he let me do what made me happy.  He even went to every game, yelling "ALRIGHT BOOMER STICK SOMEBODY!" at my first game.  In the end, it all worked out.  Eventually, I would have had to stop playing baseball and soccer to play two sports I really loved, football and track.  I was good enough in football, I was best at running.  My experiments into baseball and soccer just helped me develop those skills that I would need playing other sports later on.  Dad was always one of my first coaches in sports, turns out he was coaching me about life lessons, too.  Lessons I wouldn't fully learn until I had to let my girls choose which sports they wanted to play. Very similar to the choice I had to make back in the day.  Dad had set the table for me to learn, the girls did the rest.

So, tonight Brooke is bagging up those expensive Irish dancing dresses that I bought for them way back when the girls decided they wanted to be world famous Irish dancers. They are being sold to someone else chasing the feet of flames dream. Tomorrow I will pay for cheer leading outfits or gymnastic class time.  Either way, its all part of the journey.  I am thankful for the dancing memories they gave me, but more appreciative for the lessons they taught me along the way.

Hadley, The Brave

I went and saw the movie American Sniper today.  I knew what happened in the movie, because I had read the book as soon as it came out.  I was also aware of the ending, a dark cloud that hung over the entire movie.  American Sniper moved me, but I am not ready to write about it yet.  However, I will say a big congrats to Aunt Kristin. She worked with the star of the movie, Bradley Cooper, helping him with his diet.  She has been mentioned by name by Bradley a few times in the past couple of weeks.

Anyway, there was a particular scene early on that stood out to me.  It was a scene where young Chris is at a table with his (younger) brother and parents.  His father begins to tell an abbreviated version of  this story:

Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident. We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep.

Then there are the wolves and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy. Do you believe there are wolves out there who will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial.

Then there are sheepdogs and I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf. If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What do you have then? A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the unchartered path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed.

We know that the sheep live in denial; that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids schools. But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of denial.

The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, can not and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheep dog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours. Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn't tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports, in camouflage fatigues, holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, Baa. Until the wolf shows up; then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog.

It is a story very relevant to our society issues today.  Regardless, the story was told to the young Kyle boys to instill in them a sense of protection.  Specifically, it was about the older brother Chris taking care of his younger brother.  The younger brother was being picked on at school, Chris had come to his defense in a fist fight. The father was adamant that they do not start fights, but they do finish them.  Most importantly, you stick up for your brother.  I leaned over to my friend that I was at the movie with and said "my father had that very same talk with my brother and I."

I recall one time when I was younger, I couldn't have been more than 5 or 6, getting bullied by some guy I didn't even know.  I really don't remember anything about the dude.  The only thing I remember was Patrick coming to my defense.  It was the first time I ever heard of a thing called a fight.  I once found  myself in the Principal's office because (as a 7th grader) I had gotten into it with an 8th grader who was picking on a bunch of folks.  I knew it was all a formality, because both the principal and my folks had no issue with me causing a ruckus for the reason I did.  I was taking up for someone getting picked on.  

It was one of those family lessons that really stuck with. While I have all girls, I have tried very hard to pass on to them that very same belief.  I do this to the point that I don't event let them fight with each other.  It is not acceptable.  On numerous occasions I have told them that no one else will be there for them except the four of them.  I have even said that there will come a time when Mom and Dad won't be around anymore to take up for them, so they must do it for each other.  We have spent time at dinner talking about Reagan's responsibility she has in always sticking up for Caroline.  I don't want anyone picking on Caroline, Reagan must not allow any of their mutual friends do that.  Caroline must do the same for Baylor Grace, and BG must do it for Hadley. At the end of the day, all they will have is the four of them. You never know how these lessons are going to take with girls, particularly young girls. No matter what, I won't stop preaching it.

The other day, Hadley and Baylor Grace were walking after school with their mother.  There was a boy at the corner who is known to be sort of a bully.  He was throwing snow balls at people when they would pass.  Apparently, no one felt the need to say anything to him.  That is, until he made the mistake of throwing one at Baylor Grace.  This set Hadley Blaine into a fit of rage.  "HEY, DON'T YOU THROW A SNOW BALL AT MY SISTER!"  Brooke said that she practically had to restrain Hadley from going after the boy.  He was bigger, he was a stranger to her, and he was a boy.  Hadley didn't care.  Don't you pick on her sister.

It gave me a little hope.  Hope, that when the day does come that Brooke and I aren't around,  that the girls are going to be alright.  They will have each other.

Divine Intervention

Hello y'all, did you miss me? It has been a while since I have posted.  I don't like to write just to write. I like to write when I am inspired, or I have a story to tell.  Brooke said that some of my blogs were starting to sound the same, so I felt like it was time for me to take a little sabbatical.  I'm not sure I am entirely back, but I guess there was some divine intervention that brought me back tonight.

Caroline will be receiving her First Communion this year.  It was a great moment for our family last year when Reagan did it.  Prior to that sacrament, you must go through your First Reconciliation.  This is when you confess your sins to a priest.  It is a big deal for us Catholics, something that separates us from other Christian religions.  Being Caroline's first time, you can bet she was nervous. Now, my inclination was to make up some scary stories to get Caroline more nervous.  That's what my father did to me when I had to get my first physical for football.  I am proud of myself, I showed a lot of restraint.  I didn't tease her at all.  I tried to make her as comfortable as possible.  We rehearsed her lines, repeated the steps she would need to go through, and tried to prepare her as best as possible.  She was ready to go, of course she would go first.

We walked her up to the priest and presented her to him.  I remember that feeling of nervousness and helplessness the first time I dropped her off at school.  Caroline was different than the her older sister.  I was more nervous for her than Reagan ( & Baylor Grace).  I wanted to protect Caroline.  Tonight came with sort of the same feeling.  When we walked her up there, it was like she was entering a new stage in her life.  It was another one of those times when I had to let her go. It wasn't that big of a deal, I just one she was originally very nervous.  So there I was behind the alter, watching my daughter who is scared of her own shadow all the way across the church, going through her first confession.   I honestly thought she was going to need a hook.  I was moved with emotion to see her hamming it up with the priest.  Obviously, I have no idea what they were talking about.  Whatever it was, she was full of smiles.  Caroline was nervous no more.

After she rejoined me and the two big sisters, we went to a kneeler to pray.  As a devote Catholic, I was so proud to kneel at the front of the church with 3 of my girls.  I wondered what they were praying for, and then I prayed myself.  When we were done and in the pews, I reflected back on my prayer.  I didn't pray for a UK win tonight.  I didn't pray for more money.  I didn't pray for a new car, or anything else.  I simply prayed for the health of the 5 girls that I live with, and I prayed for the health of their 4 grandparents.  That's it.  Its interesting how your prayer needs change as you change in your life.  I just prayed for health and more time with the ones we love.

At this point it was time for me to go to confession myself.

Reagan: Dad, that was quick
Me: Well of course, I am a pretty good guy.  I don't have much to confess.
Reagan: Did you confess the bad words you say during UK games?
Baylor Grace: Yeah Dad, you probably should have confessed that.
Me: Well, Baylor Grace, I'm sure you would be a pretty quick confessor as well.  You always try and do the right thing, that makes me very proud of you.
Baylor Grace: Yeah, but not Hadley.
Caroline: Definitely not Hadley.  She would probably spend the most time with the priest.  She would have the most to confess.

We all couldn't help but laugh.  I looked to my left and right and I was surrounded by my entire world.  Additionally, in the same row were some really good friends that I am so thankful we have.  In the back of the church my wife directing traffic.  Somewhere in the building Hadley was running around causing problems.  I couldn't help but feel the Holy Spirit surround me with love.

At that moment I asked for one more thing, and it happened to be a line from a song that I have sung so many times in buildings very similar to the one I was in.  Until that moment, looking at my girls, it never hit me like it did tonight.....

I asked the Lord to "make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of His hand."

Just like her MaMaw

Watching your children grow up is both extremely rewarding and extremely sad.  Tonight I was looking at a portfolio that Reagan has of herself from kindergarten. I could not believe how different she looked, how much younger she looked. It was not that long ago, yet she looks like a teenager comparatively. I love what a beautiful girl she has turned into, but its sad to see that she isn't my little baby anymore.

One of the great things about watching them grow is seeing what traits they have of you, and what traits they have of their mother.  Reagan is almost entirely her mother, and therefore her Mimi.  All things biological are Brooke dominated, the characteristics that are environmental are a little more split.  That is to say, traits that she is wired for are from her mother.  Interests, and things that can be learned, she is more of a 50/50 split.

Caroline is wired just like me.  Everything that is a biological trait of hers, she got from me.  Because Brooke has had to live with me for 14 years, Brooke has learned how to work me.  This has helped her with Caroline, because Caroline has many of the same buttons to be pushed.  As far as environmental traits go, Caroline has picked up a lot of my traits, too.  She loves many of the same things I love.  Super heroes, history, science, movies, etc. she and I are like two peas in a pod.  She reads like I do, not to just fly through a book (cough cough Brooke), she reads and retains everything.  She sat and watched (almost) the entire Roosevelt documentary on PBS along side of me. While she struggles with many of the same things I struggled with as a kid, she is caring, loving, emotional, just like me.

Baylor Grace is a difficult one to figure out.  She is driven to do the right thing (like Reagan and Brooke), hates to get into trouble (like me), but is still developing who she is.  Her likes and dislikes are also all over the map.  However, I have noticed two traits lately that I know exactly where she got.  It isn't from Brooke, and while I passed it to her, it isn't fully from me.

Baylor Grace is a hoarder.  Seriously, she throws nothing away.  I am not as bad about throwing stuff away, but we both place emotional ties to objects that have little to no value.  We have to purge her room every so often, or it will just be overrun with junk.  This is entirely her MaMaw.  We love MaMaw, but she is a bit of hoarder herself.  Not enough to need an intervention (or a TV show), but she keeps almost everything and attaches emotional value to things.  I remember Mom used to keep every ticket stub from the movies in her glasses case.  This is something Baylor Grace would totally do.  Baylor Grace is very much like her MaMaw in that sense. I think its cute.  My father has said that as long as I am alive, Granny (Tim's mother) will never be dead.  Our personalities are too similar.  I think Granny would just absolutely love Caroline.  From what I am told, they are so much a like. I'm starting to think as long as Baylor Grace is alive, MaMaw will be too.

Tonight, I noticed something was bothering Baylor Grace.  I had to asks few times to pull it out of her, but then she began to tell me what was wrong.  25 minutes later she was still going.  I have no idea what she said, she made very little sense, but she told a very, very, very, long story.  Just like her MaMaw.  It had something to do with two of her friends and a car, but that was about all of the sense I could make of it.  Much like a MaMaw story.  Are you every driving down the road and you sort of zone out only to come through minutes later? You have no idea how you got to where you are, or what happened getting there, you just refocus on paying attention to whats ahead.  That is sort of what happens when MaMaw and Baylor Grace tell a story.

It is one of those qualities we love about my mother, and I love seeing it in Baylor Grace.  It is sort of like life.  You don't always know the point, you sometimes question if there is one at all, you don't remember how you got there, but you are very appreciative at the end of it.  Im glad my mother was teaching me those lessons, even when I didn't realize it.  I am even more thankful that I have BG to pick up her slack when I don't talk to MaMaw as often.  I think MaMaw would be proud to know that part of her lives on in Baylor Grace.

Now we just have to see which one is the amazing cook like their MaMaw.

Superhero Poovie!

We have a small obsession in my house, and by we, I mean everyone except Brooke. In fact, the thing we love, Brooke generally does not like. We love superheroes.  I have to give my brother, Patrick Ayers, all the credit.  I liked comic books as a kid because he did.  He was an X-Men fan, I liked Spider Man and The Punisher. We have very different personalities, but that was one thing we had in common.  I was never the nerd (in this case its a compliment) that Patrick was at it related to the marvel world, and growing up the movies were terrible.  This has changed in the past 15 years, the comic book movies are awesome.  It has drawn me back, and also gives me another way to connect with a lot of the guys I work with.  Im not just a dumb, redneck,  jock, I am also a nerd (and not just a history nerd).  Nerds are kind of cool now.

I try very hard to introduce to my girls the same things I would if they were boys. As far as interests go, I don't want to treat them any different. The girls get more than their fair share of SEC sports (we love the new SEC Network), all types of history movies, and yes...Indiana Jones. They love Indiana Jones. It all started when Caroline took a liking to Captain Jack Sparrow. I thought maybe I would have a chance to get them to like some of the same things I did. She would always want to watch Pirates of the Caribbean.  Then it became a Star Wars thing, and it has now morphed into a complete love for The Avengers.

All four girls love the movies and have seen every movie starting with the original Iron Man. Many of them at the theatre. They often know more about the comic book characters than many of my friends. For instance, Caroline knew that Falcon in Captain America 2 was not wearing the same outfit that he does in the comic books. Here in Park Ridge, its a trendy thing for kids to load up their backpacks with key chains. Baylor Grace has one, it is a heavy hammer.  Thor's hammer to be precise. She likes Thor, because they both have long blond hair and blue eyes, Reagan often wears Captain America's shields as her ear rings.  This is her in her Captain America T-Shirt.

The girls often go with me to the movies to see them when they first come out.  Here I am, walking into a comic book movie with anywhere from 1-4 girls following behind.  It does get some looks.  I could not care less.

It really was good for Caroline that she liked to read comic books.  Reagan will read an instruction manual if it is all she can get her hands on.  However, with her eyes the way they are, reading a continuation of items (like a chapter book) was always harder on Caroline.  Comic books were written in a way that was enjoyable and not too difficult for her eyes. She she would read every comic book I would give her.  She is currently reading Marvel's Civil War graphic novel, which is one of their best series (and no, it has nothing to do with America's Civil War)  Now that she has bifocals it isn't as difficult for her to read, but for a while, comic books were the majority of her reading.  I was totally okay with this.  It was something else her and I could bond over.  

I think they get that superheroes are not real, but we believe in them in this house for sure.  Much like Santa, Captain America stands for everything their Daddy stands for. While girls are getting into all sorts of things that have questionable morals, most of our comic book heroes stand up for what is good. The movies are done in such a fantastic way that I don't need to skip too many parts. Maybe a little of Iron Man, and Guardians of the Galaxy (which is awesome) probably need to wait a bit until they are older.  But in life, you have to believe in the good guys. You have to pull for the good guys.  That's why Capt's shield is something I'm glad they enjoy.  If I am in a good mood, Im often wearing my Captain America clothes, if I am in a bad mood...its The Punisher.  That is probably a different blog on a different day.  

Caroline once asked me if I were Captain America? I asked her, had she ever seen Captain America and her daddy in the same room at the same time? Perhaps its what I do when I go on my "work trips." You should have seen the look in her face. Their feelings for The Avengers changed a little when Reagan told me that Baylor Grace thought Thor was handsome. Now, they all have a crush on Chris Evans version of Captain America. Hey, I don't blame them, he is a good looking dude.  

So this brings me to the picture of Hadley above. This has been her first week of her new school, where she knows virtually no one. Hadley is doing what Hadley does, charming everyone into loving her. If they only knew what a holy terror she really is. Anyway, after school on Thursday her teachers let her select something from the prize jar, and she selected the Hulk pez dispenser.  The teachers, at first, weren't sure if she really wanted that.  Did she really know what she was getting? Why would she select Hulk, when she could have selected all the princess ones? Hadley insisted, because she loves "Superhero poovies," as she calls it.  She knows all about Hulk, Captain "Amerta" and "Four (Thor)" "Fiderman (Spiderman),  and the Hulk one is the one she wanted.  I couldn't have been more proud of her. She was so proud of herself. I think its appropriate that of all The Avengers, she gravitates towards Hulk.  They both sort of have the same effect on a place... HADLEY-SMASH! 

Mission Accomplished

I feel like I accomplished something big today, something that makes me want to blow the dust off the blog and write about it.  As y'all know, I'm a big history guy.  I am, in many ways, an actual historian.  This subject matter has really defined my entire educational life.  While many were doing volcanoes for their science projects in grade school, I was doing one on the conspiracy theory surrounding the JFK assassination.  One of my first trips with my new (don't worry its the same wife I have now) wife, was a Civil Wargasm through PA and MD.  At one point during my first walk down Pickett's Charge, a rather dramatic point due to the rolling thunderstorm that was about to hit,  I asked my wife "can't you just hear the guns?"  She, rather disgusted at this point, replied: "No, its hot.  Lets hurry.  Its a good thing you're cute, because you are a nerd."  She meant it with love....I think.

I spent one summer tracing down my family history, and I may do it again shortly.  Now that I have kids of my own, its more and more important to me.  I was digging through all the census records I could find, just to get a little clue into the past.  Turns out, one of the most interesting stories was right in front of my face all along.

As I have mentioned before, my mother's father was in WWII.  He was actually in every major European campaign after and including D-Day.  He was a truck driver, transport guy, drove a big truck.  He said the scariest moment of the war for him was the night prior to D-Day (not the actual invasion itself).  James was slightly delayed into Normandy because they had to secure the beachhead in the morning for him to drive the supplies up.  He told his story about how he had to move every large vehicle on the ships en route to Normandy, at night, in as much silence as possible, with no lights.  He said he had to move the vehicles right up to the edge of the ship without driving overboard.  Don't forget the ship was moving in the ocean.  They could only communicate by clicks, and no lights from the vehicles were allowed.  He said that was the most stressful moment for him.   He later told me had to sleep under his truck on the beaches of Normandy because there were explosions going off everywhere.  That didn't bother him too much.  He later then participated in Northern France, Ardennes, and Rhineland campaigns.   Click on each campaign to learn more.

I could never get PaPaw to talk much about the war.  One thing that always stuck out to me was when he said "That's (going to war) just what we did.  We went over there, did our duty, and came home."  As he has gotten older, and probably realizing the bell will toll for him sooner rather than later, he has opened up about his time over there.  Now, he just talks to me about it without me having to ask any questions.  He gave me his dog tags this past November when I took my girls to see him.  Caroline gave him a Veterans Day thank you card.  Where before it was like pulling teeth, now he just talks.  Talking is harder for him to do and all of this was 70 years ago.  Some of it, you can tell, he doesn't want to remember.  However,  I can imagine recall would be difficult for anyone.  I don't claim that my PaPaw was a larger than life figure.  I don't even claim that when I was younger we were all that close.  I was certainly closer to my PawPaw (Dad's Dad) who was taken too soon by pancreatic Cancer.  That doesn't mean I didn't love my PaPaw, and that I didn't appreciate the gift of my mother.  She is just an awesome mother, and an even better MaMaw (have I lost you with all of our southern parental nicknames?)  Anyway, as I have gotten older and learned more, my PaPaw has become someone I admired more and more.  As I once told him, they make video games and movies after stuff he did.  I think what made him more admirable, is the "aww shucks" attitude he had about the whole thing.  He is, in many ways, a living hero. 

I can recall watching videos of the last Confederate soldier who died in 1959, I have even asked my father if he remembers that moment when it happened.  The last WWI American soldier just passed 3 years ago, something I will never forget.  It is now WWII soldiers turn.  Every day we lose brave men (and women) who fought in that campaign.  Each one of them should be thanked, appreciated, and talked to, before it is too late.  That brings me to my "Mission Accomplished" moment.

When I was doing the family research, I made copies of my grandfathers discharge papers from the US Army.  I was surprised to see how active he was and how decorated he was.  He doesn't have a ridiculous amount of medals, but having any from that time period is pretty cool.  The papers were something I was going to hold on to forever.  Flash forward about 7 years, and I see "my" Congressmen Andy Bar (R from Lexington KY) say on twitter that his office can replace your relatives WWII medals.  I was instantly determined to have that done for my PaPaw.  I called PaPaw's Congressman's office (Yarmouth D from Louisville) and asked if they could do it.  Ironically enough, the staff member who has been helping me along the way is my brother's ex wife.  To her credit, she has pushed this through and stuck with it until the end.  I am very thankful for that.  It turns out that all of my grandfathers war records were in a file folder in a warehouse in St. Louis.  Sounds good, right? The problem is, that warehouse burned down in the early 70's, so there was very little evidence the government had to verify my grandfathers record.  In fact, all they had were two pay stubs.  Thankfully, I had his discharge papers (glad I did the research years ago and kept those papers).  They matched the numbers on the pay stub with the papers, and everything was quickly verified.  Now, James F. Rissler's records will be digital stored in the governments files. The cherry on top is that his medals were quickly sent to the Congressman's office, hence the GWB picture above.  Mission Accomplished.....almost.  Still don't actually have the medals in PaPaws hands, but it won't be long now.