My father was born in the roaring 20's. He served in WWII. He talks about many different things that happened during his lifetime.
One of his favorites is when my sisters and I were sent to get water at dusk time. There wasn't any electricity in the village. We had taken too long to get over the hill back to the house. As we came around the corner, a black shape was coming up the hill towards us. "A bear!" We dropped the buckets and tried to run.
After he shouted to let us know it was him, we still weren't ready to believe it. One sister ran most of the way back up the hill, one tried to hide behind a bucket and one was swept up into his arms. He finally calmed us enough to get us into the house.
I've been doing family history research. Looking at the era he grew up in has given me a clearer picture of the man who is my father. I don't always agree with him; I'm not quite the daughter he thought he raised. He still lets me be me.
He's my father and I love him.