esrosedotblog

I was seven when the allies invaded the French coastline. 70 years ago today.

I would like to say that I remember the event but I do not.

I do know now that it was a big deal.

I remember, in high school, that someone had put that label on the wall in Shop where we learned, well, shop. How to make stuff. D-Day: The Sixth of June.

I didn't pay it much attention. I was mostly terrified of using a buzz saw or anything else that might chew my fingers off. The war was a far way off by that time.

My awareness of WWII is limited to some key memory moments. I remember my mother fainting when the news of Pearl Harbor came over the radio. I think that they didn't want me to know what was happening but the question of why she was fainting couldn't be easily answered with a lie.

I remember a lot of scuffle. Blackouts. Air raid practices. My Dad going to a hotel on the top of a mountain to look for enemy planes. Later, when I was in high school I did the same thing looking for Russian planes. The red scare was pretty heavy about that time.

I remember the men in my family leaving for the war and then my Dad in 1943. He enlisted. My mother was furious and, I think, never forgave him. It didn't help that he had war dreams for years. Maybe for the rest of his life. So it was never over for them.

I do remember some other things. Roosevelt dying. Then the end of the war. It is hazy.

I like the before and after pictures here.

Labels: WW II