Memories of my grandfather

[pinevista]

Memories of my grandfather, Frederick G. Coxen


At my age I tend to reflect about the "good old days" more often then I used to. I suppose that Christmas time triggers more memories than other times of the year. My family's Christmas was deep in traditions so it doesn't take much to recall special moments.

I know that my blog is about my grandfather's journal and what I'm about to write sort of relates to the man behind the journal. When I was in elementary school my parents would take my sister, brother and I out of school prior to Christmas vacation so that we all could drive down to Florida to spend Christmas with my grandparents. It seemed a magical time for we left the cold and snowy weather of Michigan and after 3 days we would arrive at my grandparents home where it was warm and the grass was green. I loved going to Florida for Christmas because my father was more relaxed and he spent time playing with me and some of my toys. One Christmas stands out because Santa brought me an army truck with a big canon on it and I believe that it was called, "Big Bang". What was cool was the ability to turn the canon left or right, and up and down by pushing the appropriate buttons. There was a post on the bottom side of the canon attached to a spring. To fire the canon one would pull the post towards the base of the canon until it locked into place. The shells or missiles were 2 or 3 inches long with a black foam rubber tip. Each missile had a hole in its base so that it could be inserted onto the rod inside the barrel of the canon. Once the missile loaded one would make the necessary adjustments to aim the canon and then press the "fire" button to launch the missile. The Christmas I received the canon my dad and I would fire the canon at different objects. One target was one of the low hanging Christmas tree ornaments, my grandmother saw what he was doing and told him to stop, but it was too late for he found his mark and broke the ornament. Now it seems funny that if I would have broken the ornament I would have gotten in trouble but my dad could without punishment.

We would spend around 10 days, a few days prior to Christmas and a day or two after the New Year before driving back to Michigan. My uncle and his family would also made the annual pilgrimage so every day busy and a party every night. My grandfather loved company and his family about him but did not interact with his grandchildren. He seemed distant and unapproachable to me, however, my sister was the only girl so she could interact with him more than the male children. I can recall a few times I spent time with him, such as the time he took me to a store to buy cases of soft drinks and he knew that Coke was my favorite.Another time he took me to a bait shop where he bought me a box of bait shrimp. I recall when I saw a jellyfish swimming in the canal that ran behind his house. I ran into his garage and grabbed a fishnet and ran back to where I saw the jellyfish and I started to position the net to scoop it up when my grandfather came out of no where and grabbed the net before I could use it. He told me that the jellyfish would have stung me if I touched it.

I suppose that the lack of engagement wasn't all his fault, for I was a quiet, reserved kid that didn't talk much. So with so little interaction I didn't know that he served in the Royal Field Artillery during World War One. In fact, his nickname was "skipper" and he used to wear a dark blue hat with a black bill and a embroidered ships stirring wheel on the elevated front of the cap. It sort of looked like a policeman's hat. So I often thought that he may have been in the Navy. I don't recall that my grandparents had a distinguishing English accent, I did notice that they had some sayings that were different from other adults I knew.

Therefore it wasn't until I was given some of his documents, including his journal that I discovered  the man that I called "grampy". My father never talked about his father, of course I never asked so he didn't volunteer information. Therefore I never knew how much my father knew about his father's military background, or if he knew that his father's journal existed. I find it interesting that I grew-up with a father I knew so little about. I know just a few of his childhood stories and the rest perished when he died. Along with loosing his stories, I also lost his stories about his father. At least I have my grandfather's journal to give me some insight; I can't say the same about my father.