Suadade: A Short Story Collection

Across a Table in America

My grandfather's funeral was grim, as most funerals are. It took place in a small, dank room filled by families and friends. As a child, adults would come up to me with sad smiles on their face and tell me they were sorry for my loss. I couldn't register what was happening, being nearly 10 years of age, I had no experience with death. I watched with dry eyes as I observed some adult I didn't know hand my grandmother the folded up American flag my grandfather had earned from his years in the military. I didn't understand what the flag was for then, I just imagined that it was something every family received when a loved one passed away. On the ride back home I said a silent prayer to every house we passed which had an American flag hanging from a post, hoping their deceased loved ones were safe and happy in heaven.

America and I have had a conflicting relationship. My dad's side of my family comes from Canada, a place of politeness and sorrys, and being raised as such in the United States has been, we'll say, interesting. My family prods, not-so-jokingly, at the idea of packing up and moving to Canada, the premise of free healthcare and more affordable schooling beacons. My sibling, coming out fairly recently as nonbinary, hasn't felt truly safe or accepted in America, fearful of their own safety around certain individuals. Being surrounded by those who are pro-military, and guns, and discrimination, and racism is harrowing for anyone caught in the crossfire.

Being a part of the LGBTQ+ community, my sibling has always found a rather loud voice for their opinions. The pictures of them as a child that still hang on our walls in which they wore pink dresses surrounded by young, groomed bunnies make this transition even more impressive.Their colorful hair, dyed newly each month, and their boisterous voice that echoes adds to the loudness that surrounds them, able to escape the misogynistic views that used to contain us both. You always know where they stand in political events and are likely to hear a comment or correction if someone neglected their pronouns. I often stay in the background in conversations like these, unsure where my voice would be appreciated or needed, if at all. I feel as if I don't know enough about present subjects being discussed, not wanting to share a voice that is unsure or uneducated. The possibility that growing up in such a misogynistic society that I learned not to be too loud or to sit quietly unless spoken to is engrained too deeply into my spirit to break free from.

I agree, for the most part, with my family's loud opinions, but I also wonder where my grandfather would have fallen into. He was always quiet himself, I never knew where he stood on any political side, but maybe I was just too young to understand. I'm not sure if he was socially awkward or disengaged or simply didn't have anything to add; maybe he felt overshadowed by the noise from my family, or no longer able to fully hear the words spewing from clamorous mouths. He never spoke to me about his days in the military or how many friends he had lost or what being a part of it meant to him. The topic often ignored or overlooked by my entire family, my grandmother even brushing it off. He travelled all over the world before and after his time served, taking his family with him to Singapore, Australia, and Japan, so I'd like to believe he had somewhat of an open mind towards other people and cultures. I find myself thinking about if other families of veterans would say the same.

A friend's grandfather sat me down in a diner with his buddies and talked to me about their different experiences in the Vietnam war. An American flag rested upon their hats or over their hearts. A navy veteran, an army veteran, and an air force veteran bonded over their vastly differentiated stories lived during the same time and daily similar places. "A man walked out of a bar in Vietnam, completely wasted, and woke up in Florida with a piece of shrapnel in his ass," followed by an uproar of laughter. They talked about their reasons behind it and who they were fighting for - family, friends, and lovers - and I understood a little more. They made friends and families away from home. They learned to discipline their bodies and minds in the hopes that they would make it to the end of the war and the world would be better for it. They spoke about their losses, everyone knew someone who didn't make it back, but in the end they spoke with an overwhelming pride of their colleagues and their country.

I wonder what my grandfather's reasons were for joining, if he had a greater desire to protect my grandmother or if he was simply too young to understand what he would be getting himself into; the stigmas, the loss, the near torture that lives in the mind months after the fact. I wonder why those men were comfortable to be so loud while my grandfather always stayed so silent. I can't help but wonder if my grandfather and I would be friends, willing to share stories to each other as strangers across a table. Maybe he would stay quiet, or likely he would feel comfortable sharing his stories with a young woman he would presume would not interrupt his tales. I know he and my sibling would not cross paths or have the desire to speak to one another without the strong bonds of family that ties our hearts - so intricately wound - together. I have the hope that he would find comfort around my presence even if we were strangers, I'd hope that he'd find some ease to share his own stories as those gentlemen in the diner had. More likely he'd sit quietly on the side, hung up by the presence of a stranger, unwilling or unable to share any thoughts or opinions he may have had.

It's hard to fit in with my family when the loud opinions cause such conflict. I find it difficult to grapple with the reality of resting with no opinion that grabs a hold of me and dares me to shout it to those around me. I am desperate to feel pride for my grandfather and all of his accomplishments both in the military and as a family member. My sibling shows incredible distaste for anyone and anything having to do with the military, and I am curious to see how or if they try to justify or tear apart our grandfather's actions. I wonder why anyone would go off to fight and potentially die for people they would never meet, but I also find myself seeing things from both sides. As a chronic people pleaser, I find myself looking for justifications for all points of view, not wanting to believe anyone is holistically evil or corrupt. The idea of holding a gun of any kind makes me sick to my stomach, the idea of having one always on my hip even more unfathomable, but I could also see how someone would want one beside them for potential protection, especially after surviving the horrors of war. I understand that many of the systems we base our society on are corrupt, but I can see how the idea of change on such a massive scale can be scary or intimidating. Regardless, I think something that can bond us all together is the fact that there's still work to be done. No country is perfect and striving for perfection would be in vain, but looking to always improve and working to change for the better is, and will be, achievable. Until I have overcome these conflicts inflicted upon myself and my family, I'll stand in my inbetween and observe from the confused and conflicted middle ground.