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I can close my eyes and still see my father, sitting in the child’s rocking chair that I still have. I can hear him singing the song in his off-key way as I faded off to sleep.
“Over in Killarney so many years ago, my mother sang a song to me in tones so sweet and low. Just a simple little ditty, in her dear old Irish way. And I’d give the world if she could sing that song to me today …”
My father heard that Irish lullaby for the first time over the radio flying high over Sicily in World War II. He was a communications officer in the Army Air Corps, fighting a war foreign to his instincts. He was there because, like so many in what Tom Brokaw dubbed the Great Generation, he volunteered to serve when his country needed him.
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