World War II was a defining experience in my life. Although I was born two years after the war ended, I grew up hearing my father's stories of combat in the South Pacific. I still remember sitting in the backseat of our 1948 Ford staring at the half-moon scar on the back of my father's neck where a piece of shrapnel had become embedded. But there were other signs of his wartime experience as well, the way he'd jump out of his skin if a car backfired; his fear of flying, even though he'd spent ...

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