Posted by Kathleen Pooler/@kathypooler
“What a father says to his children is not heard by the world; but it will be heard by posterity.” Jean Paul Richter
In paying tribute to the memory of my own beloved father on this upcoming Father’s Day, I find myself digging into family archives to pay tribute to the father who fathered him, my Grandpa Paul.
Because love begets love and cycles through the generations.
The tattered journals pounded out by my witty and upbeat paternal grandfather, Paul, for his daughter, my Aunt El, who was stationed with her husband in Texas during World War II are a tangible reminder of that love; a treasure of memories and a glimpse at the times in which they lived.
An Epistle of Paul to His Favorite Blond Daughter, Volume One , 1945
In 1945, seventeen years after his wife Edna had died, Paul detailed everyday life in wartime Schenectady in letters bound as journals to Aunt El. Her sister, my Aunt Ruth, enhanced these journals with her artwork and cartoons. He never stopped loving or missing Edna. But it seemed like he made the most of what he did have. Cherishing his four children, he’d recall little details of their lives as he knew it and as only he could recount:
Volume 1, No. 3
“I remember when your mother and I had to be separated after being married for about three months. I went but 200 miles away and, of course, corresponded regularly, but the four weeks I spent in Ithaca alone looking for suitable living quarters seemed almost a lifetime. So when young kids are separated I can feel an understanding sympathy for them.”
It helps me to understand the special bond that my father felt with his family; Grandpa Paul’s mantra “All for one and one for all” being the key to that bond.
As previously told in this post on Preserving My Father’s Stories, Paul, a traveling salesman for a printing company was forced to put his four children in a children’s home after the death of his wife Edna in 1926. Then the Great Depression hit the country in 1930 and they were forced to stay for several more years. They were 12, 8, and 6 years old (My Dad was the youngest) at the time of this picture and I can feel their pain. Every time I look at it, I want to hold them in my arms and melt their pain away.
Somehow, poring over these bits and pieces from the past, I feel I may be capturing part of myself. Maybe in discovering more about my father and his family, I can understand myself better.
Then , my 8-year -old grandson handed my daughter, his mother this note written on lined paper one morning as he left for the school bus a few weeks ago:
“A Special Person
I will always remember my (great) Grandfather! He passed away 2 years ago and I miss him so, so much.
I will always rember his love and kindnes that he showed me. I will always have a speacial part of my heart that will hold the memarious.”
And I thought of all the love that ripples through the generations…
Fathers are so important.
Blessings to all fathers whose love and guidance echoes through the generations.
***
How about you? Do you have stories of love about your father that ripple through the generations?
I’d love to hear from you. Please share your comments below~
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Kathy, doesn’t it just amaze you to think of the resiliency of our ancestors to endure such hardships. I wonder if we carry the pain of loss within our sensitive souls and feel driven to capture the family legacy in words in honor of those who could not due to promising lives cut short in tragedy.
Yes, Pat, it does amaze me. I have thought about that resiliency so many times throughout my life. It has even more meaning as I reflect upon all they endured and how positive and loving they all were to one another and to others. Even though they’re all gone from this earth, their legacy lives on. When I write about them, I feel I am helping to keep that spirit of family love alive. You are right, our words do honor our ancestors. Thanks so much for posing the question.
Such a heartwarming post, Kathy. It’s wonderful that your Grandfather was able to write about his experiences, and that you and your grandson are doing the same.
Thank you Rosanna! I appreciate you stopping by and sharing your kind thoughts. I grew up hearing that Grandpa Paul had” a way with words.” And I’m thrilled not only that we have tangible evidence through his journals but also that my grandson is journaling his thoughts and feelings.
I remember reading about your grandfather and it’s hard to imagine the struggle it must have been to put his kids in a children’s home. But how amazing that they got together later.
That “way with words” goes on and on. . .
Thanks for stopping by Sharon. I appreciate your comments. Yes, Grandpa Paul’s “way with words” does go on and on!
Kathy, you’re so right — I, too, would like to wrap those little kids in my arms and melt their fears, loneliness, and sadness away! How brave they all were, and how fortunate their separation didn’t sour them on life.
It’s so true that love cycles through generations. Last year, one of the ladies from church wrote my son and shared a memory of his grandfather (my late dad). It was so poignantly told that I included it in Domer’s Memory Book.
We’re both blessed to have been raised by loving dads, and I know you, like me, will be missing yours this Father’s Day. Just know they’re looking down and smiling, dear friend!
Interesting Debbie, their separation seemed to make them closer throughout their entire lives. The respect and love they had for one another was wonderful to witness. I love your story of the lady from church sharing a memory of Domer’s grandfather for him. What a treasure. Thank you for sharing. Yes, we have both been blessed with loving fathers. Thanks for sharing such a comforting image of them “looking down and smiling.” 🙂
Kathy I remember being in class with you when your father passed away. I’m still feeling your stories about him which you brought to life here. What a smile! Meeting him through the story of your Grampa Paul and the hard times of that generation is especially tender. I enjoy the way your bring yourself into the story as well. Love the photos! And….I learned a new word today-epistles. How fantastic. Congratulations on another heartwarming post. xo
Oh Sue, I vividly remember the love and support extended to me in our group when my dad died in 2010. And it was through writing that I found comfort and solace. I still feel it when I continue to write. It’s a way of keeping his spirit alive, honoring his memory and staying connected.Thank you so much for accompanying me on my journey. Thanks so much for stopping by.Blessings and hugs.
Kathy,
What a beautiful tribute to your father and grandfather, and to resilience. Do you now have these amazing journals?
I know it’s outside the scope of today’s post, but I’m curious about those other people in the picture. Are they the people who cared for the children? They look kind and caring, and perhaps made the tough times a bit easier. Maybe they had something to do with that resilience? Maybe a story for another day!
Hi Sharon,
Thanks! No,I do not have my hands on all the journals,only a few. My cousin, Aunt El’s daughter, is the rightful owner and she lives in another state. I hope to review them again when we get together. As far as the other couple in the picture were Grandpa Paul’s brother Uncle George and his wife Aunt Renie. From the stories passed down, Uncle George was kind but Aunt Renie was mean and didn’t like children. She apparently wore the pants. Yes, that is another story–after Edna died, the children were sent to live with Uncle George and Aunt Renie and were subsequently sent to the children’s home. Unfortunately, they didn’t make the times easier. But in their own way, they may have helped each one of those children develop resilience. It seems there are always so many layers to each story!
Kathy, what a loving tribute to your father and grandfather as we approach Father’s Day. The generations before us were highly resilient people, and sometimes I wonder where along the way we’ve lost some of that staying power. Your mention of your grandfather having to take the children to the children’s home brought back memories of my father’s own childhood. Perhaps I should dig out the last photo taken of him and his siblings just before their mother took them to the orphanage shortly after their Papa died at age 36 in 1905. Times were so different then –women didn’t work and had no way to support their children if left in these circumstances.
Thank you, Sherrey. It is hard to imagine what our ancestors had to endure. I think those black and white photos capture the mood of a time so different from what we’re used to. Yes, dig out that photo!
My father, whose divorced mother had a nervous breakdown during the Depression, was sent to an orphanage where he lived for 3 years as a very small child. And that was only one of the horrors he endured. Poor thing. Yet he never pitied himself. These ancestors are a beacon still.
I know what you mean, Lynne. For all they endured, pity was not part of their response. What I saw was gratitude. The only thing Dad complained about was the lumpy oatmeal in the children’s home. I agree, they are a beacon for us.
What a sweet, heartfelt post, Kathy. Sometimes it’s hard to imagine the difficulties previous generations endured. To lose his wife at such a young age and then his children to a home just so they could survive… how awful. And yet rather than breaking them, the difficulties seemed to grow the bonds of love even stronger. To that I say, bravo! I look forward to reading more about your family Kathy.
Thanks, Grace. It’s true, Dad and his siblings remained very close their entire lives and I never heard them complain either. Gratitude can go a long way. They all show up in my memoir! I appreciate you stopping by and sharing your thoughts.
My mom was a very tempered person, stern and with a very austere way to rule everybody’s lives in the house. For example, Papa was not allowed to rock me, to tell me a story or to have any normal fatherly contact with me. She was – sadly – a control freak. So, when I got a bit older – around 8ish – Papa found a way to be with me for a short while.
Maman didn’t like too much to walk to the Art Museum or to the Botanical Garden as she was considering that as a lost of time. Papa loved it as well as I, so on rare Sundays afternoon, we were both leaving home for a long walk… and Papa had his pockets full of peanuts in the shell we were both eating on our way to the Museum (or the Garden). You could have followed us with the shells on the ground we left behind us.
That is one of the few little memories I have of time passed with my dear father. He was such a funny, soft, cultivated and intelligent man but we were not allowed to be together. I wish we would have had more time together to talk and laugh and I wish my children would have had the chance to know him… but he died too soon, when they were little.
Thank you, Kathy… I will write all the little bits of memories I remember… and I just found few photos of him. That would be a wonderful moment to pass with him after all this time.
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
What a beautiful and heartfelt story of precious memories with your dear father, Amyah. Thank you so much for sharing. I hope you continue to write these memories, even if they seem few, they are so precious. I can feel the love shine through this memory from both you and your father. I always feel connected to my dad when I write about him. I love keeping his spirit alive through his stories. I am so happy you stopped by and shared this. It is precious!
Oh! Yes I will! Maybe when all these precious moments — including the ones who are hiding somewhere in some dusty drawers up in my head — will all be on the paper, I will see that there is a bit more than I thought even though it might not be as much as I would like.
I want to write something to present him to my kids and grandkid so they will know what kind of a beautiful man he was.
Again thank you to light up our muse and put more ink in our pen 😀
Yes, Keep letting your writing flow, Amyah. There is no better way to honor your beloved father than to keep his spirit alive to his grandchildren and future generations. I am so happy to “feel” your enthusiasm for this noble project. 🙂
Dear Kathy,
My heart was with yours as you described the pain of your father and his siblings in the children’s home. In those days so many children had to be separated from their families because of poverty and/or the terrible times during WWII. Your writing is so lovely and heartfelt. I always want more.
Oh Madeline, your words are so touching. Thank you so much for your ongoing presence and support on my journey.
Blessings,
Kathy
A precious reflection, Kathy. My dad passed at an early age: 68. He was such a big presence in my life. I’ve just posted a story about his missing toe on my Facebook page. In one way he was a fierce man and in another a star gazer.
Thanks for sharing your dad’s story Belinda. I think it is so important to keep their spirits alive. When we gather as a family, my siblings and I lovingly recall Dad’s little quirks and idiosyncracies. It was never around 3:00,it was 3:02, precisely as only an engineer would care about. Or we chuckle about what Dad would say. He is always with us and writing about him makes me feel connected with him as I’m sure it does for you too. I appreciate you stopping by and commenting.
What a lovely memory sketch, Kathy, and choice photos. Thanks for sharing. 🙂
Thanks Terre. I’m glad you enjoyed these snippets about my family .
🙂 I appreciate you stopping by.