I find myself thinking about my maternal grandfather quite often these days. I never met him. He died shorty before I was born. Nonetheless my mother often spoke of him with a tone of respect for his hard work and his wisdom. He had left his place of birth in an area of Eastern Europe that would eventually become the nation of Slovakia. 

At the time of my grandfather’s migration to the United States tensions were brewing in Europe. The area where he lived was ruled by the Austro-Hungarian empire and there were many reasons for him to want a better life for himself and my grandmother. The Hungarian wing of the government was pushing for uniformity of language and political thinking. The many languages of the differing areas had been outlawed in schools and all of public life. Everyone was commanded to speak only Hungarian and to tow the line of dominance by the ministers of the empire. 

My grandfather saw that he needed to leave his homeland and start a new life in a country with a democratic government. Thus he saved his money until he had set aside enough to pay for his passage across the Atlantic to America. He set his hopes on Houston, Texas, a somewhat fledgling town that often advertised its possibilities with a great deal of exaggeration in brochures sent all across Europe. Somehow the message made its way to my grandfather and soon he was making his way to the port in Galveston on a steamer ship from Bremen, Germany. 

My grandfather began his life in the new world with a job on a farm in the an area near the present day ship channel. He lived frugally in a boarding house quite near the area where the Houston Astros would one day build their baseball stadium. Within a year he had save enough to send for my grandmother and once she arrived their adventure in the United States would begin in earnest.

At first they both worked on the farm but eventually they would move around to wherever work was available. My grandfather officially earned his citizenship before the outbreak of World War I. While he was a bit old for service in the military he nonetheless had a draft card that originated from the Beaumont area of Texas. Shortly thereafter his first son was born to be followed by nine other babies in the nineteen twenties. Two of them would die as infants but the remaining eight would be a lively bunch and my grandfather and grandmother were both up to the task of caring for them. 

Grandpa worked diligently and saved every penny until he had purchased land in the east end of Houston. Then he paid cash to a builder to complete one room at a time until there was a home that still stands on North Adams Street. When the Great Depression devastated the country my grandfather kept his job at a meat packing plant. With a garden in back of the house and a cow that provided milk his children never missed a meal even if the offerings were sometimes meager by today’s standards. 

My mother spoke over and over again of her father’s love of the Untied States of America and the freedoms it gave him and his family. He urged his children to always cherish and protect their freedoms. He lead Sunday meetings in which he taught them about the importance of hard work and temperance in all things. He spoke of his own childhood and the country from which he came. He expressed his hopes that one day the people there might enjoy the same freedoms as those in the United States. He cried openly when Hitler invaded Czechoslovakia and cried again when the Soviets took charge of the country after World War II.

My mother described how their father would gather them around the radio whenever President Franklin D. Roosevelt or his wife spoke to the nation. Her father would speak of them as exemplars of leaders who cared about the people. He urged his children to be proud Americans and to never take their freedoms for granted even when they were taunted as “dirty Pollack immigrants” 

With the chaos of Trumps second presidency I have felt the kind of concern for my country that my grandfather so surely must have felt for his homeland. I too have cried many times as I have witnessed the ugly disregard for immigrants, minorities, women and people who have made different choices regarding their religion or sexualities. I have cringed at the threats being hurled at our freedoms, but I have also marveled at the courageous men and women who have been willing to risk speaking out, standing firm in their resolve to follow the Constitution. Somehow I believe that if my grandfather were still alive today he would exhort us to speak out to keep our nation intact. He would tell us to continue voicing our concerns and using the rights that have made this nation a haven for those who want a good and decent life for themselves and their children. 

My grandfather was grateful for the opportunity that the United States gave him with few restrictions. He literally just showed up one day and built a new life with little more pushback than a few insults hurled his way. He loved his country and that love has trickled down to me and my brothers and my children. When we protest or speak out it is only because my grandfather’s legacy continues to voice our need to vigilantly defend our right to speak our minds, a luxury that was denied to him in his homeland by tyrants. Grandpa taught me how fragile and precious our freedom can be. Now I will defend it and resist any efforts to weaken it for anyone. It is my duty.