Today is Anzac day (Anzac stands for Australian New Zealand army corps) on Anzac we remember the people who fought for their country especially those in world war I and World War II. Anyway my Grandpa (pop) was in World War II and died recently so but my grandma (gran) told me a story about him so I thought might as well share it. So every year there is a parade’s all over Australia for Anzac day and for years and years pop would always march in them, since he fought in the war he really loved Anzac day because to him it was a day to remember friends and comrades who died during the war. He was a mechanic in japan (but don’t think me or any of my family has any problem with Japan because we really don’t we have some really good family friends living there and pop ended up living in Japan and even had a Japanese girlfriend, and plus we probably were just as brutal back to the Japanese soldiers so we can’t go around saying we had it worse) than when the war ended there he was sent to Korea to help the south, but even though he was only a mechanic and wasn’t in front lines, he still suffered like everyone else in the army with constant attacks on the area’s he was staying and had to hear about how close friends and other soldiers he worked alongside with who had wives, children, fathers and mothers brutally torched, Also the guilt of knowing he was helping killing people who also had family and loved ones who were just as scared as he was.  Personally I think he was affected more by it in his old age but that’s probably because I wasn’t around when he was younger.  But as I said before every year Pop would march in a Anzac day parade. One year he went to a parade where there were a lot of step hills he had to walk up and down. My Gran and aunty were watching from the side line cheering everyone one who marched on but towards the end of the parade they noticed that pop was missing so they retraced the steps of the parade, when they saw an old man in a coat sitting in the gutters crying both of them quickly ran to him realising it was pop, he was crying by himself on the side of the road. When they asked him why he was crying he told them that he was no longer able march that it was too hard for him that he tried to keep up but he couldn’t, pop was growing older and weaker and he was too proud to be wheeled around in a wheel chair because he always believed that wheel chairs where for people who really needed them seeing as he had a grandson in a wheelchair (my brother), if he couldn’t march the parade than he decided he wouldn’t be in the parade at all, which really broke him because he was so proud to say that he was able to serve his country.  When gran told me it really made me want to cry because I remember him as the stubborn old man and I knew it would have broken him. So instead now in his place we (me and my other siblings) march for him although this year I was too sick to :( but we march every year since he died wearing his miniature medals because his other medals are framed. So yeah I just thought I’d share that little story :) R.I.P POPPY

Pops the one on the left (btw pop's my dad's dad)

(sorry for any mistakes)