3WW (Deceit, Indulge, Oath): Family Secrets

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. No characters are based on real people, whether living or dead. Any resemblance to a real person is pure coincidence.

My grandfather passed three days prior to his 70th birthday. I didn’t know him well. He and my mother had a falling out over something earlier in life. She never told me the reason.

My mother described her mother as a sad, helpless woman. A servant to my grandfather. But the pictures I saw of my grandmother seemed to indicate the opposite of what my mother told me. A short stocky brillo-haired figure with a stern face and strong jaw.

My grandmother died rather young. Before I was born. My father told me that they hadn’t gone to the funeral.

One Thanksgiving evening after my mother retired to her room, my father indulged my curiosity if only a tad. My grandfather had come from Germany early in his life. And he had been a war hero in World War II. My grandmother had two children, my mother and my uncle. He was about to tell me something about the issue between my grandfather and my mother, but my mother walked in and bellowed, ‘Harold’ in her gruff voice.

My mother moved to Philadelphia when she was 18. Worked in a grocery store and put herself through a community college. Then went to Penn State for her masters during the latter half of the 60s. Met my father. Settled down in northern Delaware where I was born in 1970.

I was 18 when my grandfather died. A rebellious soul, I didn’t listen to my parents. Normal for that age. My uncle called from Bismarck to tell my mother. I answered and talked to him for the first time. Strange to talk to someone I should have known better. I told my mother that her brother had called when she got home from work. And I told her that her father was dead. She winced a bit, but hid behind her stoicism. I asked her why I didn’t know more about my grandparents and my uncle. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. I forced the issue, to no avail. I then accused her of not loving anyone. Not her parents. Not her brother. Not her husband. Not her son.

I resolved to go to North Dakota. My mother reluctantly gave me my uncle’s number. She told me I shouldn’t go, that they were not ‘our’ type of people. I called and arranged to be picked up at Bismarck Municipal Airport.

My uncle was there waiting for me when I arrived. He shook my hand sternly. The same strong jaw as my grandmother. The same mannerisms as my mother. I was convinced of my mother’s deceit when I stayed with my uncle and his wife. They treated me like a king. They told me stories about my grandparents. Their struggle to get into this country, to make something of themselves. Until a friend of his from the Fatherland gave him a break and hired him.

I felt like I had found a piece of myself. I felt German.

The next day was my grandfather's funeral. It was sparsely attended. Most of his friends, my uncle admitted, had died. And my grandfather hadn’t been a particularly sociable man. But a great man nonetheless. We celebrated his life at the church and then buried him in the church’s graveyard.

We returned to my grandfather’s house. My first visit to the house where my mother had grown up. There were a few old men and women sitting in the musty living room that stank of cigars and lime. My uncle lead me around the house proudly. Showing me where his room had been. Where my mother’s room had been. My grandfather’s den.
I noticed a plaque on the wall. And a specific name on the plaque.

Diensteid der Soldaten der Wehrmacht
Ich schwöre bei Gott diesen heiligen Eid, daß ich dem Führer des Deutschen Reiches und Volkes Adolf Hitler, dem Oberbefehlshaber der Wehrmacht, unbedingten Gehorsam leisten und als tapferer Soldat bereit sein will, jederzeit für diesen Eid mein Leben einzusetzen.

There was a collage of pictures next to it. A face very much like my uncle’s except in black and white. Next to a strong jawed woman. On his shoulder, a sign I had seen only in history books. A swastika.

My grandfather, a war hero. Had had difficulty coming to America. I turned my eyes back to the plaque and stared at the all too familiar name.

My uncle started proudly:
‘I swear by God this sacred oath that I shall render unconditional obedience to Adolf Hitler, the Führer of the German Reich and people, supreme commander of the armed forces, and that I shall at all times be ready, as a brave soldier, to give my life for this oath.’

My stomach lurched. I turned and made my best effort to smile. My uncle, oblivious to the impact it had on me, continued our tour.

I departed the next day, having found it rather easy to claim flu-like symptoms.

I traded a knowing glance with my mother when I entered the house. She asked only if I was okay. I said I was and made my way to my room.