Not so simple

There were two grandfathers. But, not exactly. Not in my friend's lifetime. "My grandfather was shot in 1941 by the Nazi's." It is impossible to exaggerate the extent to which this story is repeated by grandchildren all over Poland. Three million Poles perished in World War II. In this particular family, the grandfather was fighting with the resistance, the underground Polish Home Army. He was confronted. And, as I remember hearing it, he was shot in front of his fourteen-year-old son. There was no birch cross in a quiet village cemetery near Warsaw to visit. No stories of a man grown old, teaching his grandson to play chess, imparting his wisdom about life. But he lives still, in the strength and courage of his heirs. It is not so simple, to remember them all.