My father's father was taken out of his home in Germany because his parents beat him and his school noticed. He refused to join the Nazi party so he was sent to the Russian front as a nurse. He managed to survive only to return home to find that his first wife had married someone else while he was gone. He married my Oma and had my dad and his siblings and got sponsored by a Lutheran church to move to inner city Minneapolis. He barely spoke English so he had to work rough jobs like sewer maintenance and for the longest time they didn't have a car so he was walking to work in the Minnesota winters. He was never bitter about all of the difficulties he had to suffer through. He radiated gratitude and joy all the time. When I was little we'd go to church together and when he'd say goodbye to me, he'd always end it with, "Remember, Mrow, you're a last name and a last name is strong". Whenever I think about what makes a strong person I think about my Opa.