大象传媒

I鈥檓 鈥渙nly鈥� 54, so I don鈥檛 remember any of World War II. What I do remember, however, is vivid accounts of the war from my father. He was a poor Pennsylvania farm boy, just recently graduated from high school, who was drafted along with his adored older brother. My father spent time mostly as a gunner in North Africa, Italy, Corsica, and France, while his brother was smart enough to be promoted to lead other men in battle. But smart did not mean he was emotionally ready to see his friends and neighbors injured and dying. So my uncle experienced shell shock and was shipped home early, my father arriving only after VE Day. And most vivid of all are my memories of my skinny, nervous, uncle living in the other half of our double house in a tiny town on the edge of Appalachia. He smoked cigarettes for their calming effect--an expensive habit that no one else in the family had, woke up in cold sweats during the night, lost his temper in a second and just as quickly was sorry, and could never forget what he鈥檇 seen in Europe. And finally, I remember being awakened by my father one late evening in 1966, as the ambulance arrived to take my uncle to the hospital for the last time, so that I could say goodbye. It may have been twenty years after the war, but the war killed my uncle just the same.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.