When I was maybe seven or eight, my great-grandfather was playing cards as they did every Friday night. It was all family and I didn't know much about anything but I had just learned which cards were which and walked up behind my Grandpa and exclaimed: "Grandpa, you have two jacks!"

The punch in the face came swiftly and pretty hard for a little kid to handle.

Looking back I know it was just a tap compared to what he could have done but it made my nose bleed and was the first time I had ever been punched in the face. The rest of the family was livid and he just sat there saying that I needed to learn.

He left the room for a bit and I went to look for him to apologize and he was crying in the living room and he just hugged me when I said sorry and he cried so hard. I didn't understand any of that.

My grandma explained about him still having a hard time with what he saw and did in the war even though it was thirty-five years later. The next time I was there and was playing pool with him I asked him about the war. He didn't go into detail but told me of the family in Holland that saved his life by hiding him in their house from the Nazis and of the time they tore out an olive tree from the center of a village in Italy because their tank couldn't make it through the street.

When he died, my grandmother gave me his medals and told me that I was the only grandchild that ever asked him about his time there and now that I am thinking about it I am crying at how sad that must have been for him.

Thank you for sharing this.