My Own Grandparents

I was born in 1945, just four months after the end of World War Two. My parents met each other earlier that same year in New York City. My Dad, Dudley, was a submarine sailor in the Navy and my mother, Ruth, was in the Women’s Army Corps (WAC) working at the Army post office. Dad was handsome in his uniform and Mom said it was love at first site.

After military service they moved to Wilmington, Delaware and lived just around the corner from my mother’s parents, Axel and Gerta Swenson. I spent my early years growing up in my Grandma Swenson’s house since both Mom and Dad worked. My grandparents had come to America from Sweden and spoke Swedish in their home so I learned to speak in two languages at once; English and Swedish. I wish I still knew Swedish but I had forgotten it all by the time I started school.
Granddad Swenson was a machinist for the DuPont company. He operated very large machines that drilled and cut metal to make the parts of other machines. He learned many years afterward that one machine he had made parts for was the atomic bomb that was dropped on Japan to end the World War. Grandma Swenson was a home maker and I remember that her house was always filled with the scent of baking cookies, pies and cakes.

My father’s parents lived in Virginia. His father, Allen, was a minister and served as a chaplain in the Navy during the war. Granddad Jones had served in the Pacific and landed with the Marines during the invasion of several islands held by the Japanese. He did not speak often of those days but when he did his voice grew soft and his eyes filled with tears. Grandma Jones, Clara, was a typical minister’s wife and often was busy helping other church families even while she raised a large family of her own.

I feel fortunate to have known all four of my grandparents. They were in my life often when I was a boy. I was very sad to lose them one at a time over the years. I often think back to our time together and remember them fondly. Grandparents can occupy a very special place in our lives. They can know us in a way that few others can because they can recognize something of themselves in us; they are able to better understand why we are the way we are. I hope you each have the opportunity to know your grandparents.