♫
November 3, 1946
Dear Journal,
As my fourteenth year passes by, I continue to be filled with the dread of what happened to father and Uncle Arthur. I cannot help but find myself trapped in my memories of my childhood days, playing in the fields with Uncle Arthur, or to remember sitting by the fire between my fathers legs. War brings death, but why did this second world war have to bring as much death as it did to my family? Uncle Arthur was only seventeen when he was called to Heaven. Father had so much left of life. It is sad to see that Shirley barely even remembers them. She remembers a man with blonde hair, but that is about it. She remembers nothing of his character, nothing of his deep laughter. Every time I take a drink, I do it remembrance of them. I sip at the whiskey, thinking of my father stirring the whiskey in his own glass. Mother does not realize I drink as much as I do. Sure a fourteen year old isn’t meant to drink the way that I do, but I see nothing wrong with it. The only time I am relaxed is after having a few. That is when the peace fills me and I can begin to think of the future. Oh journal, what does my future hold? Will another war break out and cut short my life as it has to my family? Or will I grow and have this house to myself one day? Will Dottie and I have children of our own? Or will death claim me before those dreams can be realized?
Jack















