Lest We Forget

War is a word I heard often as a young child, but long before I knew what it meant.  I was about 3 years old when my father received a posting for 4-Wing Airforce base in Germany, just 16 years after WWII. Because there was no available housing on base when our family of 6 arrived, we moved in with a German family ... a very spacious home in nearby Baden-Baden that included 3 generations. These were my first memories.  I came to know the grand parents as Oma and Opa.   Opa often took me on his morning walks to a large manicured field with white crosses. I was too young to know what these were... or to comprehend death. I simply loved that he held my hand and picked me up when I tired.  I remember that when I fell down and hit my head on the cement step, he picked me up and ran with me in his arms to the local doctor, he stayed with me, holding my hand while the doctor stitched me up. 

Four years later, and back in Canada, my understanding of WWII grew, but I always felt like something was missing in the equation, and this was perhaps why I became such a voracious reader of comics relating to war.  I, like most Canadian children, became intensely proud of the men and women from our country who played a part in ending the war, And I still feel that way today, except with a much greater outlook thanks to another older gentleman who came into my young life.  He, like Opa, was warm and fun loving, and when I was made aware that he had fought in WWII, I knew that one day I would ask him about it.  That day did eventually come, and his reply would be a pivotal moment in my life.  I knew by the look on his face, that my question has taken him by surprise, and I saw pain in his otherwise fun loving eyes.  I had never heard his voice so solemn as in his reply... a reply that shook me to the core and set me on a path for answers... for the truth.  That single moment of pure honesty on his part was a pivotal moment in shaping my life.