I've been reading Secretary of State Marco Rubio's 2012 memoir An American Son, and something that echoes throughout almost each chapter is how much an impact his maternal grandfather — or Papá — had on his worldview and political life. Rubio jokes that he was a terrible student but a voracious reader, an autodidact at heart — and honestly, it’s kind of endearing. But, while his young world was filled with books, newspapers, and trips to the library, he had what he called an "invaluable living research guide" in his home.
"My grandfather loved history and politics as much as I did and was far more knowledgeable about them," he writes. "He became my tutor, my companion, and close friend and one of the great influences in my life. But for his encouragement, I think my life would have turned out very differently than it has."
Rubio's Papá was born in pre-Fidel Castro Cuba. He'd worked hard and was "proud of his education and resentful that his against-the-odds to middle-class prosperity in Cuba had ben lost to the depredations of others." He was able to share tales of history, his own patriotism, and life lessons with his grandson because he'd lived them, not because he'd read them in a book. Rubio says his grandfather admired the great men of history and already detested communism, even before Castro changed his life. He "believed the United States was destined to be the defender of human progress, the only power capable of preventing tyranny from dominating the world."
Unlike so many these days, Rubio's politics weren't shaped in a college classroom or by the media — they were molded on his childhood front porch at the feet of a man who was walking proof that Marxism destroys everything it touches, and the United States is the greatest nation on earth.
Reading all of this made me think of my relationship with own grandfather. He wasn't a Cuban exile — he was born in Nashville and grew up spending his summers on his grandparents' farm — but he lived through the Great Depression and served proudly in World War II before dedicating his life to his faith, family, and business.
Those events shaped his worldview and his work ethic. He never did anything halfway. He worked hard but never complained. He was successful but never proud and actually lived quite modestly. He loved his country and as Rubio says of his own grandfather, my grandfather believed, above all else, that "America must be a strong country...or the world would succumb to darkness..."
I didn't sit at his knee as a child and learn any of this, though I did study him. He was always at work, it seemed, and when he did come home in the evenings, our grandmother always warned my cousins and me not to bother him because he was tired. As if to prove her point, he'd usually fall asleep in his recliner watching the Atlanta Braves game most nights. But eventually, he retired, and my grandmother died in 1997, and without her playing gatekeeper, something changed in our relationship. He grew warmer, and I became more eager to learn from this man I'd always admired from what felt like afar even though he was so much a part of my daily life.
We bonded over our passion for politics, and we'd spend hours on his back porch, at his kitchen table, or sitting out by his pool, talking about the leftist ideologies that were harming our country. When he learned how to email, he'd send me his thoughts on various issues or forward me political jokes and blurbs on various historic events. When I started my writing career, he kept telling me that I needed to get into political writing. (Well, here I am, Granddaddy, finally.)
The old women who used to run our local polling place always joked that my family didn't show up to vote until Robert — my grandfather — told us whom to vote for. In his final years, one of those ladies told me that he'd gone to vote earlier that Election Day, and she asked him if he'd given our family our official voting instructions. He said something like, "No, I don't do that anymore. Sarah handles that now."
But the truth is that if not for him, I'm not sure I would have been as politically tuned in. He's the reason I stayed on top of current events, even when I was barely in elementary school. He's the reason I learned how great our nation is, as well as how fragile it can be in the wrong hands. When I was young, if he thought it was important, I did, too.
In his book, Rubio mentions that his grandfather was a Ronald Regan man because he believed in strong leadership. I can say the same for my grandfather. One of the final talks we had before he died was who would be president in 2016. "We need someone who is outspoken and unafraid," he'd tell me, rattling off a list of names that make me laugh now. I can't help but wonder what he'd think of Donald Trump.
When my colleagues here learned that I was writing this column, several of them piped up with similar stories about their own grandfathers. Our editing manger, Chris Queen, shared the following with me:
My grandfather was unabashedly conservative, and when I was little, my grandparents lived about half a mile from me. I spent a lot of weekend nights with them. I can remember my grandfather talking about Ronald Reagan to seven-year-old me and explaining conservatism to me in a way I could understand.
The first time I ever heard Rush Limbaugh, I was riding in the car with my grandfather. I remember him saying something about agreeing with everything he said even if he wouldn’t put it quite the same way.
As he got older, my grandfather got more cynical about politicians, and it’s easy to see why. He passed away in early 2016, but I often wonder what he would have thought of Donald Trump. I especially wonder what he would think of one of his grandsons (my cousin) voting for a Republican for the first time in 2024 after getting indoctrinated in the state of Washington.
My fellow writer Catherine Salgado shared this with me:
My WWII vet grandfather’s patriotism and Republican politics shaped my own political and cultural beliefs from the youngest age. I especially appreciate now how he was willing to talk about current events and American history with me and my siblings when we were young kids, encouraging us to take civic responsibility years before we could vote. That equipped us to engage with and analyze political issues as we grew up, when most of our friends didn’t read the news or study our Republic’s system of government.
But it was something else that Catherine said that really made me pause. Rubio and Chris are both members of Generation X. I fall into the millennial age range. Catherine is younger and a part of Gen Z. She told me yesterday that many of her peers actually have Baby Boomer grandparents, and she can tell that's made a difference in their own political leanings.
They weren't handed down values of freedom and patriotism that were born out of World War II, the Great Depression, or fleeing Fidel Castro's Cuba. They don't cling to the individual liberty many of us hold dear. They weren't shaped by eras that demanded resilience, sacrifice, and a clear understanding of good and evil.
It's one of the most frightening realizations I've had about our country in a long time. What will become of it in the hands of future generations? What will the kids whose grandfathers never had these experiences do when the United States is theirs?
My grandfather never talked to us much about what he saw during the war, but my dad told me that he once told him there were times he was afraid he'd never make it home from battle. His greatest fear was never stepping foot on United States soil again. The places he went, he said, confirmed for him that we live in the greatest nation the world has ever seen. And when he finally did make it home and was greeted by a country that was largely united, it was the best feeling he'd ever experienced.
These aren't just stories of family history. They're the tales that represent the foundation of our country, the tales that shaped our political identities. They came from men who witnessed firsthand the contrast of tyranny vs freedom. Unfortunately, their voices are fading, and we're starting to see the consequences.
In my mind, the only way to keep our nation strong is to find a way to keep their voices alive.
