fascismMy Mother’s Father was a Nazi. He was a high ranking Nazi in Deutsche Wehrmacht. There are conflicting stories about whether or not my Mother’s Mother was raped, or if she gave consent. However, that’s irrelevant for my story.

My Father’s Father though, was a member of the resistance movement during the war. His particular job, was to help concentration-camp prisoners escape, by leading them over the border, from Narvik to Sweden. My Father’s Mother, would throw bread over the electric fence, during nights with no moon, to make sure the poor prisoners didn’t starve to death.

My Father died on my 5th birthday, so I grew up on my Grandfather’s knees, where he would tell me stories from the war. As he did, he taught me my most valuable lessons. But the greatest lesson he taught me, was not the ones he told me, it was the ones he Lived!

Sometimes, the greatest lessons we can learn by others, are not the lessons we are told, but rather the stories they live! The way they behave! I never understood why, but when I was a child, I was my Grandfather’s favorite grandson. My Grandfather would treat me, in ways all my cousins saw as unfair! He would give me a new bike for birthday, while he gave cheaper gifts to all my cousins! He would give me 5.000NOK on my 10th birthday, while he gave my cousins less. It was only as I started reaching my forties, that this fact started doing an impression upon me, and I started understanding the lessons he had taught me.

In my stories too, there are stories that are never told. This is because the stories you See with your own eyes, are ALWAYS the most important stories! These stories are the only stories that can actually create lasting change! These are the Magical Stories! The Miracles we do!

My Grandfather was a Hero! The best type of Hero there is! I loved my Grandfather!