When I was a little girl, I never gave a lot of thought to the fact that my father was gone. I had a father, and a darn good one at that. I do remember, however, when I was in my early twenties, becoming quite obsessed with the fact that I had never met Melvin L. Pollock. It wasn't long, and my busy life raising two little boys took over, and the feeling of loss soon subsided once again.
Fast forward a few decades when my cousins discover the old boxes full of letters and war memorabilia that all belonged to Melvin. He was back in my life and in my heart with a vengeance, and this time, he was here to stay. I was given a gift that day. Inside this cardboard treasure chest, was truly all I would ever have of the man I never had a chance to call Dad.
I began telling the story of this handsome young man who had joined the Army Air Corps during WWII. I told of how he survived the war, came home, married my mother, and tragically left us five days after my first birthday. I then told of another handsome young man who married 'us' when I was four and the fact that he was now talking about being on the front lines when the Germans attacked on that cold morning in the quiet sector of the Ardennes.
My plan was to document their lives and pass it along to my now grown sons. The more I told the story, however, to anyone who would listen, the more I was encouraged to write this book. I can only hope that as you read these words, you will remember that my sole purpose is not to convince you that I am a writer. It is to gently remind everyone that freedom is not free.
WWII veterans are leaving us at an alarming rate. Think of how many stories will never be told. I am so proud to have been given the chance to write this part of history, the stories of these two fine men, my heroes, my fathers.
Fast forward a few decades when my cousins discover the old boxes full of letters and war memorabilia that all belonged to Melvin. He was back in my life and in my heart with a vengeance, and this time, he was here to stay. I was given a gift that day. Inside this cardboard treasure chest, was truly all I would ever have of the man I never had a chance to call Dad.
I began telling the story of this handsome young man who had joined the Army Air Corps during WWII. I told of how he survived the war, came home, married my mother, and tragically left us five days after my first birthday. I then told of another handsome young man who married 'us' when I was four and the fact that he was now talking about being on the front lines when the Germans attacked on that cold morning in the quiet sector of the Ardennes.
My plan was to document their lives and pass it along to my now grown sons. The more I told the story, however, to anyone who would listen, the more I was encouraged to write this book. I can only hope that as you read these words, you will remember that my sole purpose is not to convince you that I am a writer. It is to gently remind everyone that freedom is not free.
WWII veterans are leaving us at an alarming rate. Think of how many stories will never be told. I am so proud to have been given the chance to write this part of history, the stories of these two fine men, my heroes, my fathers.