History by Peg

          History is either real or imagined, in the telling it is not always simple to know the difference.  The truth has always been colored by the biased memory of events as told by witnesses or others who were relying on rumors.  After conflict, the victor relates tales of patriotism, valor and heroism.  The stories told by the vanquished tell of the cruelty and brutality, the unwarranted destruction they suffered and the bravery of their own in the face of a lost cause.  I used to listen and believe the stories of valor and service above and beyond the normal call of duty.  I used to watch the  Movietone news at the theatre along with the stirring martial music, and the breathless commentary while images of war flickered on the screen.  It never crossed my mind that others in movie theatres in Europe or Japan were watching a different take of the same battle.

          My grandfather Collins told me many grand stories of his service in Her Majesty’s Navy.  He told me of his exploits in the jungles of India, as a member of a navy squadron serving with the Indian Gurkha Rifles chasing and capturing rebels who wanted the end of English rule. I heard stories of sailing on the icy seas of the north Atlantic and going up the masts to break ice away so the ship would not capsize in the rough seas. Recently with our son we examined my grandfather's service record that described the ships he served on.  None had traveled anywhere near the Far East, and he was not awarded any of the special service awards he claimed.

          Gramps was born in Cork Ireland, ran away from home as a young boy and signed on the navy ship that was in port.  He did leave his home behind, however he took a good measure of the Blarney with him. I do believe that his hands were injured when closing a hatch and that he did have to break ice while the ship drove into the frozen gale.  Years later after my dad was born, Gramps answered the call and enlisted to serve with the Canadian Army Engineers in Europe during the First World War.  Though my father didn’t care for his dad, he never told me that Gramps was regaling in overblown tales of exploits others experienced.  At least I enjoyed his stories, and retold some of them since, but now I always finish with the caveat, it’s all Blarney.

About the Author

I was born and raised in Denver Colorado and I have a divided history, I went to school, learned a trade, served in the military, married and fathered two sons.  And I am Trans; I transitioned in 1986 after being fired for “not fitting in to their program”. 18 years ago I fulfilled my lifelong need to shed the package and become female.  I continued working in my trade until retiring in 2006.  I have been active in PFLAG Denver and served five years on the board of directors, two years as President of our chapter.  Living now as a woman has let me be who I always knew I was and I am genuinely happy.