Wayne Alfred Smith, you are missed.

I know I just barely posted my very first post on my blog, but bear with me please. I got an email two days ago from my dad, entitled "One year ago today". Time has flown by. One year ago today his father, my grandfather, passed on. You never really know what you have till its gone. I know how much his passing affected my dad. I know how much it affected my whole family, he was a great man.

There was something about my grandpa that you had to pay attention to, or you would miss it. It was incredible. Until the day he died he had a sharp wit. He was a genuinely funny man. But not in the way that a stand up comedian is funny, he never did broadcast himself. He never sought to be the center of attention. His comments were quiet and you would have to pay attention or you would miss them. And if you did pay attention, you were rewarded with a big smile and a laugh, because he was a clever man.

The other thing I miss about my grandpa is that he could lie. Now some people would ask why would you miss that? Let me explain. He lived in Southern Utah. In the region he lived there were these sandstone mountains everywhere. On the mountains there were little holes all over them. He would tell us stories about how he had to take a hammer and chisel and make every single one of those holes. He made things interesting for us grand kids when we were driving around Southern Utah. Also, growing up he knew we were so impressed with professional athletes. So he told us he played catcher for the New York Yankees. I grew up believing this and telling all of my friends. Finding out that my grandpa really was not a New York Yankee was like finding out that Santa Clause was not real. In fact, I think I knew Santa Clause was not real long before I stopped believing that my grandpa was indeed, not a catcher for the New York Yankees, just a retired sheep farmer. He was a story teller, and what stories they were.

He is also a hero. He never paraded this around, but he was a World War II veteran. He landed on the beach of Normandy on D-Day plus 3. He was the driver and assistant gunner on a Sherman tank, part of the Hell on Wheels brigade. He didn't talk about combat much, but when he did it was always a treat. You could tell by listening to him that he did not delight in war, he hated it, and you respected him all the more. He was not there for glory or honor, he was there to do his duty. He told us a story of when he was once captured by the Germans. They kept them locked up in a basement for hours. They did not know what to expect or what would happen to them. Luckily hours later they were rescued and in turn German guards turned into German prisoners. Then one day in Northern France he and the men in his tank were about to enter the field. He was driving and before entering the field he switched positions with another man in the tank. He did not know it then, but that saved his life. As they entered the field, two 88mm German anti tank guns hidden in the hay opened up on the tank and they were immediately hit. The man with whom my grandfather had switched positions with died instantly as the shrapnel broke through. One man lost his leg at the knee, and my grandfather took shrapnel to the bicep. The other two were not hit. They pulled my grandfather to safety and treated his arm as the tank burned behind him. He said it was like fireworks when the shells started going off. That was the end of the war for my grandpa, he received a million dollar wound. He would be able to go home and live his life. He never complained about his arm, even though his bicep was completely severed, limiting his range of motion. I never once heard him complain.

It was he who awed me with his patriotism as a soldier. I used to think "I could never do that, I could never serve in the army." But now I find myself wanting to follow in his footsteps. I cant think of a better tribute to my grandpa than serving in the Army. I remember a conversation I had with him before he passed away. I was sitting in the back of his Buick, my grandpa up front and my dad driving. I told him that I was thinking about joining the Army. He never would pressure me into that, and all he said was "It is something you need to think long and hard about." But I know how he felt about the sate of affairs in our country before he died. He said to my father, concerning all the people who are upset about the war in Iraq, that there is not much people in this country see worth fighting for anymore. It deeply saddened my grandpa. I hope to be able to carry on the tradition for him, and for myself. He is a true hero. He worked hard for everything he had, and passed that work ethic on to his two sons. He was a loyal and loving husband to my grandma Shirley. He was an exemplary father and grandfather. And he is missed by his family.

Sorry to be a little melancholy but I really do miss him.