Story Time by Victoria

Story Time by Victoria - October 2013 Scholarship Essay

I didn’t have traditional friends as a child. My companions weren’t fellow classmates but rather employees at the local racetrack.
As a child, financial difficulties required my parents to work long hours and we found ourselves taking up residence with my grandparents, an arrangement that fortunately left me in their care. My grandparents and their siblings all worked at the racetrack. According to legend, I was a bright child with a love of discovery, and they quickly realized that the toys and cartoons provided at the local daycare would never be sufficient for their grandchild, so they brought me to work with them, where they lovingly enveloped me in their lifestyle and traditions.
I couldn’t have been happier spending my time at the racetrack, nor could I have felt more at home. I learned many valuable and holistic life lessons within those gates – arithmetic from the gatekeepers counting money, probability from my aunts working at the betting tables, and an extended vocabulary from my quarrelsome uncles working in the grandstands. However, my favorite lessons were the ones I was taught by my grandfather.
Slow days meant sitting in the security booth with him. He was open and wise and had a love of mischief to accompany his quick-witted sense of humor, and my time in that booth was the most special, because this was “story time”. He didn’t read fairytales from a children’s storybook; he shared stories with me about his days in the Navy during WWII – about the friends he made, the places he saw, and the things he had done. I remember how touching the warm-hearted accounts were that he shared with a twinkle in his eye. Other security guards would often share their stories as well until eventually my head was teeming with tales about their adventures. However, I didn’t yet appreciate the worth of their stories.
My grandfather recently passed away at the age of 88 after succumbing to a valiant battle against cancer. As time passed and I began to reflect on my days with him, I recalled his stories but the memories were incomplete and the details were vague. I worried that I had let him down by allowing his memories to pass-on with him. And what of the other security guards? Did their families know their stories? Did anyone listen? Document? My sorrow was assuaged when I discovered the Veterans History Project (VHP) while researching my grandfather’s platoon. Sponsored by the Library of Congress, the VHP preserves the personal accounts of American veterans through recorded interviews to ensure that these important memories will be safe-guarded for years to come. Through participation, I have been able to speak to numerous veterans, including a bedside interview with a WWII veteran whose life was saved by a friend who pulled him from a foxhole, and a town hall interview with a Vietnam veteran (now a local mayor) who detailed the realities of life on a submarine. I now feel as though I am honoring the memory of my grandfather as well as the veterans at the racetrack.
I believe history is about more than just dates and events; it’s about the lives of the people who made them significant. Through my participation in the VHP, I have learned the importance of acknowledging history to prepare for the future, but even more so I have learned the importance of listening. Every person has a story, no matter the length or significance. However, all of those stories are wasted memories and time elapsed unless they are shared with someone to be passed along. Exhibiting patience and truly listening to what a person has to say makes a world of a difference when building to a brighter future. The stories and accounts of a person’s life are all puzzle pieces in the evolution of time, and without taking the time to listen, both the puzzle and our future will never be complete.