This past week, while visiting my grandparents in Florida, I was reminded how precious our elders are to society. Not only do they provide living lessons of history, but they embody the spirit of a past generation that has struggled and survived. Everyone can benefit from learning their valuable lessons. I was lucky enough to find a classroom at a poolside area of the Sabal Palm condominium.
As I reclined into a lounge chair I initially heard the typical Florida tete-a-tete. Someone found a new restaurant with a great early bird special. Pictures of fat baby grandchildren were passed around.
Soon a significant murmur emerged. It was the sound of survivors. These men and women survived the Depression, fought World War II, raised families and pursued careers. Now they were basking in the contentment of knowing they had made it through. Like a sunbather, I opened my ears and let their generation soak into me.
Their murmur became music. Behind immigrant accents I heard the sound of young children stepping onto Ellis Island and into a new life. When they came to this country they learned English, got an education, worked hard and didn't think twice about it because they thanked God for America's open doors. Once they were finally established, the Depression descended and swallowed all they had accomplished.
But along came FDR, and they fell in love with him. My grandfather still speaks of him as "larger than life." FDR gave them hope, but not without a price.
When Pearl Harbor was attacked payback came in the form of military service. Fathers, brothers and sons returned to their European birthplaces, but this time their hearts belonged to a different land. "The war" is spoken of reverently by all, from Holocaust survivors to members of the D-Day invasion force. They all gather around the pool and add their story to the music.
Although history may have outlined the circumstances of their lives, they filled in the lines with vibrant colors. At the pool they laugh and sing along to Sinatra. I rarely heard them complain about the past. The words "We made do" surfaced continuously in conversation. Their patriotism is true and undying, perhaps because they have largely created the shape of modern day America. Without them, many of us would be living in Italy, Russia, Ireland or elsewhere today, and without their sweat and toil years ago many of us would not be here at Dartmouth. Their lives and experiences are America.
Too often society does not appreciate the worth of our predecessors. Down at the pool many people just grabbed a lounge chair, slapped on tanning oil and put on headphones. What a shame, the headphones prevented them from hearing the music buzzing around them. This deafness on our part has been the albatross of our generation.
Many modern immigrants lack the appreciation and selfless work ethic of our elders. Just down the road from Sabal Palm sits a section of Miami known as Little Havana. Travelling through this city it is evident that the immigrants not only prefer their native tongue but have not made much of an effort to learn English. Even those of us born in America take for granted the dreamlike land immigrants saw upon their arrival. In our efforts to secure "our share of the pie" we forget the priceless treasures this nation offers.
In the voices around the Sabal Palm pool I rediscovered a generation's view of America, an America that had not lost its allure in the technological age. This was the America where the simple things - freedom, justice and opportunity - meant everything. We call the old "over the hill," but it is our generation that is being fossilized by our myopic reluctance to embrace the lessons of our past. Before this manifests itself any deeper in our generation we have to open our ears and eyes and listen to the moving rhythm of history all around us.
An ambulance passes by the pool, and its siren is a reminder that history will not wait for us. Every day we are losing Holocaust survivors, war veterans, a generation. Like the sunbathers that squeeze every ray of sun out of the day, we should saturate ourselves with the stories of the aged. We cannot replace them in history. We can only wish to learn their triumphant lessons and replace them in spirit.
