Grandpa's 100th Birthday!
Today would have been my Grandpa's 100th Birthday. He passed away in 1995, but we still think of him often. He was a force. He was loving. He had a terrible temper. He was troubled.
Edwin August Ruwe was born on February 15, 1917. He was the second youngest of ten children. Tragedy struck his family when he was very little with the death of his little brother. His mother never recovered. She was devastated. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, but I think it was just horrible grief. In those days, when people couldn't recover from grief, they were slapped with a mental diagnosis.
Ed grew up on the west side of Cincinnati. His parents were quite poor and had many mouths to feed. The Great Depression made things much worse. Ed was very handsome, quiet and sensitive. He was also very bright. He decided to be a policeman, because he had an affinity for order and law. It seemed like a logical choice, though many of us think he probably should have been a forest ranger, or something very peaceful. However, he felt the need to help his community and to serve the poorest families of Cincinnati.
When the United States entered World War II, Ed went to war. He worked with US intelligence under Eisenhower. While I don't know much about his actual work, I do know that it was terribly troubling. He worked with the French intelligence to gather information that would help us defeat Hitler. Ed was extremely proud of his work. He told stories of the war until the day he died. He was also plagued by the things he had to do. Towards the end of his life, dementia set in. He was back in the war and would say things like, 'Hey, kid. Don't turn around. There's a Nazi soldier standing behind you. Just act natural. I can't go to prison.'
But, before his demons got the best of him, he was a romantic. He loved my grandmother for more than 50 years. He knew she was the one after their first date and told her he would marry her some day. She told him he was crazy, but he was right. They were married in 1942. He wrote beautiful letters to her while he was overseas and showed her the best parts of himself. She saw the good in him, until it was impossible to see. She stayed with him until the end of his life and never even thought about getting married again.
They had three daughters and my mother was the baby. They had eight grandchildren and he loved us more than anything. He was ahead of his time in the way that he took care of babies. He held us, comforted us, changed diapers and played with us. He pushed us on the swings at Rubber Band Park (Rapid Run Park in Price Hill). He told us to hold on tightly and said, 'You're going to the moon!'
I think I believed him when he said that. I wanted to. He was a safe, quiet, loving grandpa.
And then, he wasn't. As he got older, the demons took over. He scared us. He said weird things and told scary stories about the war. He had some very old-fashioned ideas about race and the place of women in society. We forgave him for those flaws because he came from another time. I've forgiven him for everything, because there's nothing he can do to fix his mistakes now. He moved on and so did we.
I miss him, sometimes. I miss the Grandpa who would say, 'Hey, kid, come give me some love.' I miss the man who would pick us up and hold us until we fell asleep in his lap. I miss watching him make his muscles jump from one arm to the other. I miss going for rides in his police car and how he made me feel like the most beautiful little girl that ever lived. I miss his hats. He always wore a fedora, when he was dressed up. He always had shiny shoes, a clean-shaven face and tidy hair. He said that, if a man didn't polish his shoes, he was 'dead from the knees down'.
I miss spending the night at their house and watching Lawrence Welk, while eating cheese and pepperoni. I miss his smile, which didn't come easily. When he truly smiled, it was a beautiful sight.
Happy birthday, Grandpa. Thank you for being everything that you were to so many people. We love you.
Edwin August Ruwe was born on February 15, 1917. He was the second youngest of ten children. Tragedy struck his family when he was very little with the death of his little brother. His mother never recovered. She was devastated. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, but I think it was just horrible grief. In those days, when people couldn't recover from grief, they were slapped with a mental diagnosis.
Ed grew up on the west side of Cincinnati. His parents were quite poor and had many mouths to feed. The Great Depression made things much worse. Ed was very handsome, quiet and sensitive. He was also very bright. He decided to be a policeman, because he had an affinity for order and law. It seemed like a logical choice, though many of us think he probably should have been a forest ranger, or something very peaceful. However, he felt the need to help his community and to serve the poorest families of Cincinnati.
When the United States entered World War II, Ed went to war. He worked with US intelligence under Eisenhower. While I don't know much about his actual work, I do know that it was terribly troubling. He worked with the French intelligence to gather information that would help us defeat Hitler. Ed was extremely proud of his work. He told stories of the war until the day he died. He was also plagued by the things he had to do. Towards the end of his life, dementia set in. He was back in the war and would say things like, 'Hey, kid. Don't turn around. There's a Nazi soldier standing behind you. Just act natural. I can't go to prison.'
But, before his demons got the best of him, he was a romantic. He loved my grandmother for more than 50 years. He knew she was the one after their first date and told her he would marry her some day. She told him he was crazy, but he was right. They were married in 1942. He wrote beautiful letters to her while he was overseas and showed her the best parts of himself. She saw the good in him, until it was impossible to see. She stayed with him until the end of his life and never even thought about getting married again.
They had three daughters and my mother was the baby. They had eight grandchildren and he loved us more than anything. He was ahead of his time in the way that he took care of babies. He held us, comforted us, changed diapers and played with us. He pushed us on the swings at Rubber Band Park (Rapid Run Park in Price Hill). He told us to hold on tightly and said, 'You're going to the moon!'
I think I believed him when he said that. I wanted to. He was a safe, quiet, loving grandpa.
And then, he wasn't. As he got older, the demons took over. He scared us. He said weird things and told scary stories about the war. He had some very old-fashioned ideas about race and the place of women in society. We forgave him for those flaws because he came from another time. I've forgiven him for everything, because there's nothing he can do to fix his mistakes now. He moved on and so did we.
I miss him, sometimes. I miss the Grandpa who would say, 'Hey, kid, come give me some love.' I miss the man who would pick us up and hold us until we fell asleep in his lap. I miss watching him make his muscles jump from one arm to the other. I miss going for rides in his police car and how he made me feel like the most beautiful little girl that ever lived. I miss his hats. He always wore a fedora, when he was dressed up. He always had shiny shoes, a clean-shaven face and tidy hair. He said that, if a man didn't polish his shoes, he was 'dead from the knees down'.
I miss spending the night at their house and watching Lawrence Welk, while eating cheese and pepperoni. I miss his smile, which didn't come easily. When he truly smiled, it was a beautiful sight.
Happy birthday, Grandpa. Thank you for being everything that you were to so many people. We love you.
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