Howard gazed toward the horizon where the sun was just touching the far off peaks of the Jemez. Against the deep red sun they almost looked like rows of cornstalks marching off to a long past war. He began to sing, “Du bist mein Sonnenschein, mein einziger Sonnenschein…”
“Dad,” Kurt asked, “Why do you always sing that song?”
Warren “Howard” Adams was my Grandfather. His sister, Lorna Belle, died suddenly in 1939 at 13. He rarely spoke of her or his experience in war. He served his country without ever firing his weapon. He was shot and taken prisoner then held in a makeshift hospital in a schoolhouse. There he befriended a German Soldier from Austria named Kurt. They ate nothing but turnip broth for weeks and the guards begged to be taken with as the Allies got closer. Howard named his third child after Kurt and later sent that son to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Germany.
Grandpa wasn’t a war hero by the world’s standards. But he is my hero, an example of unconditional love and forgiveness, proof we can heal from the horrors of war.
And he often sang “You are my Sunshine” in German for no reason at all.
