So much of the progress that would define the 20th century, on both sides of the Atlantic, came down to the battle for a slice of beach only six miles long and two miles wide. ~ Barack Obama

D-Day: Always Remember

The anniversary of D-Day always makes me pause and think about my grandfathers. On that day in 1944 my mother’s and father’s families had never had any contact. On that day, my two grandfathers would end up passing within ten feet of each other.

The pictures above show Grandpa Kane on the left and Grandpa Cordato “POW” on the right. These two men were incredibly important in my life. POW would die when I was only five years old, but as a toddler I was attached to his hip, I idolized him, followed him around, spent a lot of hours with him and he was thrilled about it. My granny would tell me many times growing up, that I was the only baby whose diapers he ever changed. The picture shows us doing shots of beer together. He would fill up his mug with beer and fill a shot glass for me with milk. We’d drink our shots, slam down the glasses and I would yell, “more beer POW.” I have tons of memories of being with him, but not a single memory of his death or funeral although I was there, my brain has apparently buried that pain.

My paternal grandfather, Grandpa Kane was a hard man. Wasn’t the greatest parent but mellowed with age and became a great grandfather. He taught me to plant roses and tomatoes, walked with me in the woods, told me stories about the Indians in the woods (they didn’t exist), gave me my one and only taste of chewing tobacco that I never touched again, gave me my first outdoors book with swearing in it and would go deer hunting with me. But more than anything else we would talk and tell stories for hours. He led an amazing life.

We often here the sentiment expressed on the D-Day anniversary about the brave 19 year-olds who stormed that beach, but that’s not the whole story. The draft missed my grandpa first time around, by time they got to him, he was 33 and had four children. They didn’t care, his first beach head was on D-Day, he was 34 years-old. He only ever told me the story of that day once and suffice it to say, if you saw the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan, you’ve pretty much got it. He cut off his pack, flipped over the side of the landing boat, stormed the beach, made it to the rocks, climbed them, lobbed grenades into the bunkers on top. The fact he survived is utterly amazing to me, he was a complete badass.

After the battle had wrapped up, my other grandfather, who was out on the ships off shore with the first army’s armor came rolling to shore. Grandpa Kane was directing traffic at the first intersection, so almost certainly POW rolled right by him in that intersection. An amazing little nexus point in my life, twenty years before I was born.

So today I think about both of them, and honor them with food. I’ll eat a homegrown tomato for Grandpa Kane and I’ll make a buster burger for POW. POW loved mixing ground sausage and hamburger and topping it with tomato sauce. So dinner is set for tonight. What those men did on that day and for the whole of that war forever changed the world and all of our lives, we can never forget their sacrifices and bravery. Have a happy day my friends. ~ Rev Kane