I began my blog in 2009, and this will be the shortest entry ever. That’s because there is no elaborating upon it.
This month marks the 75th anniversary of VE Day, Victory in Europe, ending that phase of the Second World War.
Amid the celebrations and commemorations, my memory reverted to an event that has stayed with me for thirty-five years.
In 1985 I hosted a member of the American Fighter Aces Association and his family, touring the Champlin Fighter Museum in Mesa, Arizona. We had friends in common from his ETO fighter group and quickly bonded.
After awhile I sensed that the ace wanted to talk, so we edged away from the group. He looked me in the eye. “I'll tell you a secret." He inhaled, paused, and said, “I loved aerial combat. On the day the war ended I sat down and cried, and not because I was glad it was over."
I'd heard similar sentiments. "How old were you?"
"Not quite twenty-six." (Later I found his birthday was VE + 1.)
"You knew you'd never be that happy again."
His eyes misted, he nodded, and rejoined his family.
