REMEMBERING A WORLD WAR II SOLDIER

It all started with a doll. My father may have souvenired weapons for friends when he returned from service in Italy in World War II, but for me, he had a doll. I knew nothing of war or fighting or guns. But as an almost three-year-old, I did know something of dolls, and this doll, with her cloth body, plaster face and limbs and black eyes that never closed, was beautiful. I named her Franca. How she came to have an Italian name is a long story.

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