The year was 1939, a teen boy by the name of William (though everyone called him Billy) was sitting at his kitchen table. His dad sat across from him, reading the local news paper, and his mom was fixing bowls of oatmeal in the kitchen.

Father: Bill, you’re almost eighteen.

Billy looked up when his father spoke.

Billy: Yeah, I know.

Father: I think you really ought to join the army, like your old man. I met your mother, actually, while I was in the Great War.