The war was something that, at the time, I was far too young to really understand. There were things here and there, sure, but as to why things happened, I would not really understand until later in my life.

The first few months were completely different. My parents fought a lot, and when they weren't, my father was busy on the phone, and my mother would just cry.

Things only got worse with the draft. Almost all the men in our already tiny town were either drafted or left to the war by choice.

My father was one of those who was eager to prove himself as a war hero. I remember the day he left, he hugged me, ruffled my hair like he always did. He acted like it was just another casual day, like he would come home this evening, and things would be the same as always. He told me: "Jesse, a man only gets a few opportunities in his life were he can prove himself to his family and to his country, and he would be a fool to turn down that opportunity. You'll understand when you're older,"

Right before my father left, he told me he would "see me soon", he had the best smile that could light up a room, but even that wasn't enough to make me feel any better.

That was the last time I saw my father.