The first time I visited my future mother-in-law's home, I was puzzled to see all the pictures on her walls of a one-armed man.
In the four months that we'd been dating and planning our life together, my wife-to-be had never mentioned that her father had lost his arm in the Battle of the Bulge. "He was a war hero," she said. "But he never talked about the war, or the fact that he'd been awarded a Purple Heart or Bronze Star."
Even as he lay dying -- from Hepatitis C, a disease that entered his bloodstream when the physician amputated his arm -- Elizabeth's father never bragged or complained. "Daddy was so happy to be alive -- to love and be loved by his wife and children -- that we never thought of him as being disabled," she told me. "No one did. That's why I never thought of mentioning his arm to you."
Ted Kaplan died five years before I met my wife, when he was 66 years old. I wish I would have had a chance to know him. I may be the man who married Elizabeth but he was the one who taught her to live and die for Michigan football, Tigers baseball and tennis on hot summer nights. Because Ted was a retail executive and Christmas was the only day off during that busy time of year, we celebrate it, as the Kaplans did, in our Jewish household. (For the record, I do so reluctantly and I'm an Ohio State and Cleveland Indians fan.)
Everyone who knew him says that my wife and three young kids inherited Teddy's quick, generous smile. My mother-in-law, who died of Alzheimer's disease last year, would talk about how kind and non-judgemental he was -- and honest too. I'm sorry that I never spoke to her at greater length about their relationship. I would have liked to hear more details about their courtship and how she helped her one-armed suitor learn to dress, shave and play golf again after the war. I'd also like to unearth his medals, so that Ben, Noah and Caroline can see them and touch them and feel Teddy's youthful courage coursing through their veins.
All of us have a Teddy Kaplan in our family history, a person who survived great odds and lived with quiet, awe-inspiring dignity. And we all have our Chatza, a person who plowed the field and hid diamonds in his teeth so that the rest of our family could thrive. In each of our families we can find inspiration for the people we would like ourselves and our children to become. Let us tell their stories well.
Do you feel that it's important to preserve and tell your family's story? Which of your relatives and ancestors do you admire most? Why? Of all your family stories, which one inspires you most? I invite you to share your story at www.MyUnfinishedBusiness.com
Lee Kravitz is the author of UNFINISHED BUSINESS: One Man's Extraordinary Year of Trying to Do the Right Things (Bloomsbury)
