At dinner tonight, conversation turned to World War II. I noted that my uncle, for whom I was named, was killed in France. Bill noted that his father, now 93, had served in the Army here in Europe. Georges, who is 76 and looks 56, reached across the table to Bill and me, shook our hands, and tearfully said, “Thank you, Americans, for liberating France.” He was nine when American troops won the battle, and he vividly remembers the G.I.s taking him for a ride in their Jeep, a real treat in that his family did not own a car. There was silence at the table for a moment as we all thought our own thoughts and then more dialogue as we all strived to create friendships that will overcome wars. But I guess before I
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