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Age the difference a few years makes   Off-Topic Chat

Started Oct-4 by Midkid5; 302 views.

From: Midkid5


Brother #1 is seven years older than me, so he had the privilege of knowing, experiencing and remembering people and things that I did not.  Sometimes talking with him makes me stop, think and look at situations in a different light.  Yesterday I stopped to drop something off, we got to talking about the unique crab apple tree in the pasture and how old it was.  I knew the tree was over sixty, since it was there when folks bought farm.  He says no it's closer to a hundred, cause he remembered Phillip telling him that it was there when he came from the war, WW I.  Wait that means it's over a hundred.  I now see the tree in a different light, wishing the whisper of the wind thru the leaves was voices telling of the past.  And Phillip, a WWI vet, to was just the grandpa aged neighbor when I was a preschooler.  Wonder how many other vets I knew.

Age, depending what stage you are at seven years can be nothing or a life time.  May you enjoy you day where ever age you are feeling today.



From: judyinohio


Thank you, Jo, for reminding me to remember how long I have survived.

I'm 80.  I can clearly remember V-J Day because my mom and my grandparents acted really silly (to my way of thinking). They were celebrating the fact that my daddy would be coming home after years of serving on a cruiser in the Pacific. After all the fuss (shooting off the rifle, ringing the farm bell, laying on the horn on the tractor) Little Judy thought that my daddy would be home the next day or the day after that.

V-J Day was in September, 1945 and my father did not actually arrive home until a bitter cold day in February, 1946. I thought I would freeze to death on the train station's platform waiting and waiting for the train to arrive. Guess that was another early lesson in patience. wink


From: Midkid5


Thank you for adding information not in history book, how long it took to bring the boys home.  Another thing a movie , sorry the title escapes me, made  me aware of was the emotional toll that it must have took on the soldiers that “found” the concentration camps.


Yes, my Dad did not get home until sometime in 1946 either, after the war was over in Europe.  His "occupation" in the Army was to be a theater projectionist, so he stayed on in southern Germany (I believe it was Wiesbaden) and continued to screen movies for the servicemen and officers who were still there.  (He had been in the D-Day landing in Normandy on June 6, 1944, and then in the Battle of the Bulge that December.)  Of course, I was not yet even a twinkle in Daddy's eye at that time.  My brother was born in September 1944 and he was about 2 years old when Daddy came home.  I did not make my grand entrance until November of 1953.  Hah!