My father was a soldier during WWII. Before he was shipped overseas he was based in Paris, Texas. My mother stayed with him. I was born 6 weeks before he left the United States with his tour of duty in what was then called Burma. My mother moved to California to stay with her parents while he fought the war. She worked on a military base and lived on the money the military sent to the spouses of men who were fighting while she saved every penny from her work. When the war ended my father was shipped home sick with tuberculosis. He came home an officer, was given good medical care and recovered from TB. My mother and I were tested regularly for a while but never tested positive for the disease. My mother and father used the money she had saved to buy a fixer up home on an acre of land. My mother sold a half acre to my grandparents who built a home next door. My father never talked about his war experiences but I grew up knowing he was a tough man. Because he fought for his country while my mother did her share back home I had the best childhood I can imagine. I had close, secure family ties from two homes sitting side by side in 1950's America.