I want to share a story about a particular U.S. Army veteran, a man I did not know, but who is a dearly beloved member of my family.
His name was George Filipu. He was my grandfather, Mom’s dear, sweet father. I was born in December 1949. My Papou and my Yiayia came to meet me when I was about three weeks old. He died later that day of a heart attack. Note: I want to refer them by the Greek terms for “grandfather” and “grandmother.”
But when he first arrived in the United States in the early 1900s, he and my Yiayia got married. In November 1918, he decided he wanted to enlist in the Army. At that time U.S. immigration policy granted instant citizenship to non-citizens who wanted to serve in the military.
Papou wanted to serve, so he joined the Army because he wanted to get into the fight in Europe; I refer to World War I.
Then something happened for the betterment of the planet: they signed an armistice and the fighting stopped. Papou’s military service was cut short.
However, because of the policy that granted him citizenship, he was able to maintain his American citizen status. I want to add that, according to stories handed down by Mom and her brothers Phil and Jim, Papou wore his pride in his new country on his sleeve as well as in his heart.
He and Yiayia loved this country beyond measure. They never returned to the “old country.” Yiayia in particular refused to return, saying, in effect, “This is my home and this is where I will remain.”
Yiayia lived a long life after Papou died. She passed away on the Fourth of July 1978. We are certain she chose that day to leave this world because (a) she loved this country deeply and (b) she wanted to make sure we would remember it.
My Papou, George Filipu was willing to fight for the country that he, too, loved. He was a proud U.S. Army veteran.