The Lost Child of WWII

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Let me take you back to the earliest childhood memory I have of my father. Growing up in the province of Pampanga, just outside the city of Porac, we didn't have a lot of money. We lived in a small village just south of the province in a small hut. Like many families back then, we made do with what we had and struggled to get by, just like everyone else at that time. My father was in the Philippine Army, and he would be gone for weeks at a time, sometimes months at a time. But I always knew when he returned home because I would wake up to a bunch of grapes on my pillow. I would smile as I awoke and whisper, "Daddy's home."