70 years ago today, my Dad turned 27.
I don't think there was any celebration or official observance.
Perhaps his Mom and Dad had a little party of some sort.
Maybe baked him a cake and sang him "Happy Birthday".
He was absent from any festivities at home.
I'm not even sure that he realized it was his own birthday.
He was busy in Europe, trying to not freeze to death
or get shot or blown up.
The Battle Of The Bulge had begun three days prior,
and within a few more days, his unit would be ordered
to turn north and drive towards the little town of
That battle would last well into January, coupled with
the most bitter weather Europe had endured in 50 years.
When I was a kid, I complained about being cold.
"Boy, you don't know cold.", he said.
Five words formed a lifelong lesson.
Happy Birthday, Pop.
I love you.