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Two Stories: Two Powerful Men
Seph
Veteran
The first job in my trade was in a
small Lebanese shop ran by a man named Abdullah.
He had a wife, and young daughter, and
a very young son. I remember them because they very often dropped by
the shop for one reason or another.
I had worked there for four and a half years and it was only near the end of this time that I heard the story as to why Abdullah left Lebanon.
He has a previous wife and children.
They were all killed in Lebanon during its civil war(1975-1990).
I learned little more details than that and I had no intention to push the subject.
The point that struck me the most was something Abdullah said.
Although I cannot remember verbatim, I most definitely remember the gist. He said that he had to leave and
the let them go. To stay would mean to embrace the hatred; to
retaliate; to exact revenge. That it would have led to path of
hatred; a never-ending cycle.
He chose to abandon his hatred.
I fear this may be an aspect of the
continuing conflicts within the middle east, but my point isn't one
on politics or the Middle East. The bravery and wisdom of this
statement has always stayed with me.
It has always influenced me. I have
always attempted to look within myself throughout my life, in hopes
of being able to see when and if I am influenced and
blinded by hatred. And hopefully have the bravery and
wisdom to let it go; to know when to simply walk away. I know in my
past I have had struggles with anger and rage, and these things are
feed by hatred, and simply walking away can be an inconceivable
notion in those blind, raging, dark moments.
When my grandfather (on my father's side) was a young man and in the Canadian Army, he met and had a
romantic affair or encounter with an English clearing woman before
the Second World War.
Details are sketchy. (Both my grandfather and this woman are long since deceased). We don't know
whether it was a 'one night stand' or a relationship. I cannot
remember whether the woman was a cleaner or nanny.... but these
details are of little importance for this story.
Pregnant out of wedlock, especially in
the late 1920's, was a taboo, so she was unceremoniously 'shipped'
out of Canada and returned to England. My grandfather was clearly
aware but seemingly indifferent to the situation. They never seen one
another again (nor the child).
In England, the woman gave the child up
to a Navy run orphanage, and that was where the child was raised and
when he entered and remained in the British Navy. That child would be
my long lost uncle Jack.
He grew up in the orphanage and Navy.
He made a career in the Navy being a diver (using the diver bell
suits). Deactivate mines was what he did.
During the Second World War he would
keep track of where various ships were sank, and after the war ended,
he would open a salvage company, return to the sites, and salvage the
wrecks.
By the time he retired, he sold the company for millions of Pounds, bought a small estate, and lives
happily. His wife (my aunt) is a retired model and he has three
beautiful daughters, all of which are married with children of their
own. It was at this point when we discovered what would amount to my
'long lost uncle'. It was like discovering and having a third side of
the family.
The last time we visited him there was
a black and white framed photo in his dinning room. It was shocking
how much it looked like my son. If I didn't know better I would
have sworn it was my son! My wife and I commented
on it and Jack told us, “Ah, yes! I can remember the day that
picture was taken. It was the day I was dropped off at the
orphanage.”
Silence reigned.
My uncle Jack is a wonderful man. He is full of life and one of the most positive people I know.
How we choose to live our lives are really our choices.
We all have stories we could tell about how difficult it is to be us.
How much injustice or pain or unfairness we have had to endure. I can
all tell a story about how hard it is to be me. We all have our dark
moments and histories.
Or, I can choose to see the brighter side of things.
Ultimately, we are not victims. We choose how we live our lives. It is not a matter of the
hand we are dealt, but how we choose to play that hand. I leaned this
lesson from my uncle.
If there is anyone that I know who would have justified reason to be
cynical and bitter with the injustices of life, my uncle is that man.
Abandoned by his father for reasons of society... abandoned by his
mother... raised in an orphanage....I mean no comedy in this, but
this could be the beginning of a Charles Dickens' novel. He had every
reason to hate the world we live in. Every reason to feel sorry for
himself; to be bitter, angry, cynical.
But he chose not to.
I wish I could type these words with more power. He
chose not to.
He chose not to be the victim, but to grab life, drink of it fully,
love life and the world.... it touches me still to write this. It
still chokes me up. I honestly don't think I have come across such a
display of 'power' as this.
My uncle is a wonderful man. The lesson I take from him was taught
passively, simply by his example.
I will not feel sorry for myself.
I will not be the victim.
I don't believe I could endure what these men have endured. (And I am
thankful I have not had to).
I do not use them an examples to myself to remind me on days that I am
down of how bad things could be. No, they have more value to me than
a simple tool.
They are inspirations!
They are exemplars, teachers of
how life is to be lived!
Do not carry that darkness within you.
Play the hand you're dealt. Always see the positive. Learn from the negative and move on.
small Lebanese shop ran by a man named Abdullah.
He had a wife, and young daughter, and
a very young son. I remember them because they very often dropped by
the shop for one reason or another.
I had worked there for four and a half years and it was only near the end of this time that I heard the story as to why Abdullah left Lebanon.
He has a previous wife and children.
They were all killed in Lebanon during its civil war(1975-1990).
I learned little more details than that and I had no intention to push the subject.
The point that struck me the most was something Abdullah said.
Although I cannot remember verbatim, I most definitely remember the gist. He said that he had to leave and
the let them go. To stay would mean to embrace the hatred; to
retaliate; to exact revenge. That it would have led to path of
hatred; a never-ending cycle.
He chose to abandon his hatred.
I fear this may be an aspect of the
continuing conflicts within the middle east, but my point isn't one
on politics or the Middle East. The bravery and wisdom of this
statement has always stayed with me.
It has always influenced me. I have
always attempted to look within myself throughout my life, in hopes
of being able to see when and if I am influenced and
blinded by hatred. And hopefully have the bravery and
wisdom to let it go; to know when to simply walk away. I know in my
past I have had struggles with anger and rage, and these things are
feed by hatred, and simply walking away can be an inconceivable
notion in those blind, raging, dark moments.
When my grandfather (on my father's side) was a young man and in the Canadian Army, he met and had a
romantic affair or encounter with an English clearing woman before
the Second World War.
Details are sketchy. (Both my grandfather and this woman are long since deceased). We don't know
whether it was a 'one night stand' or a relationship. I cannot
remember whether the woman was a cleaner or nanny.... but these
details are of little importance for this story.
Pregnant out of wedlock, especially in
the late 1920's, was a taboo, so she was unceremoniously 'shipped'
out of Canada and returned to England. My grandfather was clearly
aware but seemingly indifferent to the situation. They never seen one
another again (nor the child).
In England, the woman gave the child up
to a Navy run orphanage, and that was where the child was raised and
when he entered and remained in the British Navy. That child would be
my long lost uncle Jack.
He grew up in the orphanage and Navy.
He made a career in the Navy being a diver (using the diver bell
suits). Deactivate mines was what he did.
During the Second World War he would
keep track of where various ships were sank, and after the war ended,
he would open a salvage company, return to the sites, and salvage the
wrecks.
By the time he retired, he sold the company for millions of Pounds, bought a small estate, and lives
happily. His wife (my aunt) is a retired model and he has three
beautiful daughters, all of which are married with children of their
own. It was at this point when we discovered what would amount to my
'long lost uncle'. It was like discovering and having a third side of
the family.
The last time we visited him there was
a black and white framed photo in his dinning room. It was shocking
how much it looked like my son. If I didn't know better I would
have sworn it was my son! My wife and I commented
on it and Jack told us, “Ah, yes! I can remember the day that
picture was taken. It was the day I was dropped off at the
orphanage.”
Silence reigned.
My uncle Jack is a wonderful man. He is full of life and one of the most positive people I know.
How we choose to live our lives are really our choices.
We all have stories we could tell about how difficult it is to be us.
How much injustice or pain or unfairness we have had to endure. I can
all tell a story about how hard it is to be me. We all have our dark
moments and histories.
Or, I can choose to see the brighter side of things.
Ultimately, we are not victims. We choose how we live our lives. It is not a matter of the
hand we are dealt, but how we choose to play that hand. I leaned this
lesson from my uncle.
If there is anyone that I know who would have justified reason to be
cynical and bitter with the injustices of life, my uncle is that man.
Abandoned by his father for reasons of society... abandoned by his
mother... raised in an orphanage....I mean no comedy in this, but
this could be the beginning of a Charles Dickens' novel. He had every
reason to hate the world we live in. Every reason to feel sorry for
himself; to be bitter, angry, cynical.
But he chose not to.
I wish I could type these words with more power. He
chose not to.
He chose not to be the victim, but to grab life, drink of it fully,
love life and the world.... it touches me still to write this. It
still chokes me up. I honestly don't think I have come across such a
display of 'power' as this.
My uncle is a wonderful man. The lesson I take from him was taught
passively, simply by his example.
I will not feel sorry for myself.
I will not be the victim.
I don't believe I could endure what these men have endured. (And I am
thankful I have not had to).
I do not use them an examples to myself to remind me on days that I am
down of how bad things could be. No, they have more value to me than
a simple tool.
They are inspirations!
They are exemplars, teachers of
how life is to be lived!
Do not carry that darkness within you.
Play the hand you're dealt. Always see the positive. Learn from the negative and move on.
5