1958

 1958.  I’ve heard the stories so often.  A group of high school kids with a future brighter than they could comprehend.  They had come from Derita, Bethune and Long Creek.  I’ve been to many of their reunions. After leaving the OBX Mom floundered a bit, however my brother and I ended up at that same school.  Getting to know and making lifelong friendships with her lifelong friends.  I found the love of my life there too.  We were just too dumb to realize it and went our separate ways a few years after graduation.  It was a decision that I regret hourly.  He is forever on my mind.  The kiss that he gave me the last time I saw him and what he said to me “I love you.  I respect you.”. I had no idea that would be the last.

My Mom was an only child and was spoiled by all accounts.  She was born in 1940.  Wen war broke out it is said that my Grandmother ‘had’ my Grandfather called up for service.  My Mom and Grandma went with him as he trained in Texas.  Grandma made sandwiches for the soldiers.  When he ‘shipped out’ they moved to Charlotte.  But before I tell you more about that I want to tell you about Grandad.

I have a minor in German.  All of my classes were under the instruction of Frau Chernack.  She proudly showed off her Auswitz tattoo.  She wasn’t afraid to help us to understand what living it was like.  I remember that she said that she survived by using dirt to put pigment on her skin so that she would look healthier than she likely was and she also said “I survived by doing what a young girl must do”.  She told us stories of the stench of the crematories, the sorting of the clothing and valuables of those jews who were slaughtered.  They were sent into the gas room naked so as to keep them calm.  They had been told they would be taking a shower.  When their spirits had left, Frau Chernack told of how they were forced to drag the bodies to deep trenches where they were tossed without ceremony.  No prayers for their souls.  No kinfolk to hug and hold tight.  No trinkets to remember them by.  But these victims did give something to Frau Chernack and others - the relentless desire to survive, thrive and then tell everyone what the Nazi regime had done.  We learned about the first ‘work’ camp to be liberated by the Americans.

I had asked Grandad several times to tell me of his experiences in the war.  He refused and in fact had asked that I never bring it up again.  So I didn’t.  One day I got an unexpected phone call.  It was Grandad telling me to come right away because he decided that he wanted to tell me about the war.  His voice was shaky and his eyes tested up more than once.  He told me about being in a transport boat.  He had been assigned as the XO of a General.  Grandad was standing beside the General when he was shot dead.  My grandfather could have stayed onboard and escorted the body all the way home, but he didn’t.  Being unattached and alone he stormed the beach as a solitary prime target for the defense.  He made it through and over the dune line where he followed a group of soldiers.  This was the reason for his first Bronze Star.

I don’t know what his second Bronze Star was for - sadly, however I do know what the third one was for.  He was one of the American liberators of that first work camp.  He couldn’t hold back the tears when he told me about that.  He couldn’t understand how people could be so evil and how people could treat others with such obvious disdain for human life and the sanctity that God has given every souls having this earthly experience.  He spoke of the smell.  He said that many of the prisoners had eyes that was like looking into the depth of a cave never before explored.  He told how the Nazis had left so fast that their attempts to cover up what they had done were left unfinished.  The survivors were wearing rags hanging off bones upon which skin was draped.  Grandad looked at the floor as he told me about this.  I’ll never forget the sound of him clearing his throat, the sight of him clenching his teeth as he shook his head.

That’s what war is - the wholesale torture and mistreatment of our brothers and sisters. 

When Grandad had returned to the states and joined my Grandma and Mom they lived in a a tiny RV.  Mom has told me all kinds of stories about that small trailer park near downtown Charlotte including playing in a church yard.  The building was built from large stones and it had a rod iron fence around it.  She also met Faye.  Faye and my Mom have been inseparable since those days.  They have remained the closest of friends and still talk several times a week.  Grandma and her sister Ruby had worked at the munitions factory and often told of writing messages to Grandad just in case he got the munitions that they had worked on.

The Military Detachment at his funeral gave a flag to my Mom and one to her younger brother.  I’ve never  ever heard of that.  This is a testament to his amazing service.

Mom graduated in 1958 from North Mecklenburg High School.  She was a model and had some professional dancing on her resume too.  That should not come as any surprise to those that know her.  She met my Father and they got married.  Their first child died at birth.  My dad took care of the body and my Mother said she was never given the opportunity to see him.  They had to name the baby so that a death certificate could be issued.  They chose Robert Angel Bradley.  The first name of their Fathers.

The next baby was born in 1961.  He lived, but tore my Mom up terribly.  She and Tim (Truman Mack Bradley, Jr.) had to stay in the hospital three months.

It’s kind of amazing to think that she was healed enough to then get pregnant with me.  She went into labor early while she, my Grandma and Tim were out to lunch.  She thought she was having contractions but wanted to keep it a secret.  I suppose she just wanted to enjoy the time.  When her water broke my Grandma took over and got her to the hospital.  They were afraid for her to deliver naturally so they did a C-section cutting my ear in the process.  We were in the hospital for a month and I weighed 5lbs 3 ounces.  Mom says that it was like holding a bag of sugar.  I’m sure my Dad was afraid for Mom and I both.  

We’ve been through a lot these past 57 years (I’m writing this at 1:02am on my birthday some 11 hours before I turn 58).  One thing I could always count on was my Mom.  She’s always been there to hold my hand, to encourage me, to discipline me when needed, to help make decisions and so many other things.  She has been proud of me too.  When I made the Ice Capades she had an autograph party at Davises (the little juke joint bar she worked at).  I was embarrassed but I complied.  When I went to get my medical clearance from the OB-GYN he refused me because I couldn’t stop bleeding.  He told me “You have to choose now at age 19 do you want to skate, or do you one day want a chance of having a child?”  i chose my daughter who would come along 10 years later and in whom I couldn’t be more proud and so very thankful for.

There have been so many challenges in these 57 years.  There has also been amazing opportunities.  One achievement after another not the least of which is skill in writing.  The one theme that has woven itself throughout my life is the absolute knowing that ‘I can’.  This is because of my Mom.  She never doubted anything that I undertook.  

So as I face the next year of my life I do so with appreciation for all of those that have gone before me.  Feeling them holding me up when I’m weak, pushing me forward when I want to quit and praying when I’m unable to.  Offering inspiration as I make decisions.  Showing me how to thrive in the face of adversity.  How to apply myself to learn and keep learning.  How to show charity when the recipients are the least deserving.  How to believe in tomorrow and expect the best from humanity.  How to climb over the piles of disappointment to get to the ‘what’s next’.  To appreciate nature and share it with others and to actually share what I have with anyone in need.  She also taught me to be positive regardless of the circumstances because dawn always comes and a rainbow is a promise of a better future and a certainty of a loving Heavenly Father.  

Help somebody if you can.  Hold out your hand when it’s needed.  Remind people of what America is when their memories want to forget.  Give a hungry person food.  Offer a coat to someone who is cold.  Teach our children so that there is a chance that history won’t indeed repeat itself.