Editor's Note: This is a column published annually, with some minor changes, by the editor.
I never knew my Uncle Joe.
Somewhere there's a slide or a picture of him holding me on his lap shortly after I was born, but soon after that photo in early 1944, the sergeant shipped out.
He was not only my uncle, he was my Godfather.
He died in Normandy just one month after D-Day. I found his name on the Web, complete with the plot number in the cemetery in which he is buried.
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