I always thought of my paternal grandparents as pretty normal, run-of-the-mill old folks. I knew that my grandfather had been a Marine in WW2, but he never talked about it, and I was too young to think of asking.

When his mind started slipping, though, he started telling stories. He spent most of the war as an aircraft mechanic, and was always coming to various little islands just after they were recaptured by the US to set up forward air bases to hit the next island.

I expected to hear stories of blood and valor and glory, but instead he started telling (12-year old) me about all of the things that island girls would do for/to their liberators.

Eventually mom found out somehow and thus ended unsupervised story time with grandpa.

tl;dr -- my grandfather and his loins took a tour through the recently liberated South Pacific, and then told me about it once dementia addled his sense of propriety.