By rights, I shouldn't even be here.
And by that, I mean I shouldn't have ever been born. Nor should my father, aunt, or uncle.
Grandpa Cherry served in WWII as the tailgunner of a B-17 "Flying Fortress" bomber in the European front. He flew 52 missions, and I always loved hearing his war stories, but there was one that he loved to tell the most, and which I was always the most thankful to hear.
He never said where in Europe it took place, but there was one time when his guns jammed with German Luftwaffe strafing the bomber, and he bent over to fix them. Now, he's a Cherry, and we're known for our short tempers, so my dad and I always imagined exactly how pissed off he was trying to unjam the guns. Naturally, it'd take him twice as long to fix the problem as it would if he was calm and collected.
After he finally unjammed the guns and sat back in his chair, he felt something pressing against his head: a piece of shrapnel. He was 18-19 at the time, and hadn't even met my grandma yet. If his guns hadn't jammed when they did, he would have taken the flack right between the eyes; my grandpa would have died instantly, and I would never have been born.
He always talked about how different his worldview was after that day; how he never took a day for granted. It may sound cliché, but I've always remembered that story, and took my grandpa's view on life.
He was my grandpa, but more than that he was my hero. I just never realized it until he was gone.
I love you, grandpa, and I hope you enjoy whichever afterlife you chose to go to. Someday, I'll see you there. Keep a martini ready for me.
Grandpa Cherry served in WWII as the tailgunner of a B-17 "Flying Fortress" bomber in the European front. He flew 52 missions, and I always loved hearing his war stories, but there was one that he loved to tell the most, and which I was always the most thankful to hear.
He never said where in Europe it took place, but there was one time when his guns jammed with German Luftwaffe strafing the bomber, and he bent over to fix them. Now, he's a Cherry, and we're known for our short tempers, so my dad and I always imagined exactly how pissed off he was trying to unjam the guns. Naturally, it'd take him twice as long to fix the problem as it would if he was calm and collected.
After he finally unjammed the guns and sat back in his chair, he felt something pressing against his head: a piece of shrapnel. He was 18-19 at the time, and hadn't even met my grandma yet. If his guns hadn't jammed when they did, he would have taken the flack right between the eyes; my grandpa would have died instantly, and I would never have been born.
He always talked about how different his worldview was after that day; how he never took a day for granted. It may sound cliché, but I've always remembered that story, and took my grandpa's view on life.
He was my grandpa, but more than that he was my hero. I just never realized it until he was gone.
I love you, grandpa, and I hope you enjoy whichever afterlife you chose to go to. Someday, I'll see you there. Keep a martini ready for me.