My father choked back long-repressed emotions, which I think were being lubricated by the alcohol. He ordered another whiskey sour before he delved into the details. As he related his story, he looked as if he were fighting back tears when he came to the vivid war memories that he had safely submerged, but only now were resurfacing after many years. He broke eye-contact with me, often casting his eyes downward, maybe looking into his drink, then also casting them upward as if he were looking at some scene somewhere beyond my right shoulder

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