You know how your friends and relatives often recycle stories?
Well, that's my grandpa. He's got so many stories... and I've heard them all several times. Actually, I enjoy it each time he starts a story, even though I know the end.
Maybe he's passed the story telling gene on to me.
I often want to kick myself... "Dude, ryan, you are always telling stories. Let the other person talk, will ya." So I ask questions. I try and dig for details. I search for that person's passion. I hunt for the thing they like to talk about. And sometimes, it seems like they don't have anything to say.
And so... I tell stories. Stories about my memories, experiences, thoughts (I can remember back to about when I was 4 years old)... I haven't lived very long, but I feel like my brain is packed full.
Anyway, I got sidetracked. I was about to tell one of my grandfather's stories. This is a special one because I think I only heard it one time... and it was after I thought I'd heard them all. It's sort of a mix of stories because I have to give some background.
My grandfather spent some time in Korea with the US military. Back in the day, he was a radio operator. He gives the boy scouts credit for keeping him from the dangerous fighting at the front lines. Why, you may ask? Because the boy scouts taught him Morse code. And because he was one of the only few who knew Morse code, he was trained as a radio operator. He says the closest he got to action was when one of the US planes got shot down... it managed to fly back to US territory but crashed. He said the propeller landed at his feet. He also played a lot of poker while in Korea (he played a lot of poker everywhere. I remember playing poker with him and my great grandmother and we'd use m&ms for chips). Back then the Korean wan wasn't worth very much. He said it was always fun making a 1000 wan bet (about 25 cents) because it sounded so big. Apparently, he made quite a bit playing against enlisted "country boys" (he was from Chicago). He would send the money he won back to my grandma.
All these stories I'd heard before, but one day he started differently.
He told me about a time he went to the beach (Korea's west coast, I believe). He was relaxing in the sand, when he heard a sound. He looked out over the water and saw a tiny form struggling in the water. It was a little Korean girl. She was stuck in a nasty current. He swam out to her, but the current was rough. To fight the current, he would sink down to the bottom and then jump... throwing the little girl ahead of him... then he would swim up to her... sink down again... jump and throw... sink, jump, throw, swim, sink, jump, throw, swim... Slowly he worked his way back to shore. He saved that little girl.
He didn't say anything more. I don't know what happened after he got her back to the beach. And I've only heard that story one time.
It would be cool if I could somehow track down that little girl (who probably has a family of her own now) and see where life took her.
But wow. Go, Gramps!
And here are some random pictures I took while walking around tonight enjoying the clean smell of this afternoon's rain.
