By June 1944, my father, U.S. Army 62nd Artilleryman Robert Young, a radio operator, was already a veteran of several campaigns in the beginning days of the U.S. involvement in World War II. He was one of thousands who’d prepared for D-Day, billeted in England in a sealed camp, the surrounding countryside and villages evacuated in order to keep secret the planned allied invasion of German-occupied France.

Dad was 20 years old those 75 years ago, and while his youth didn’t impress me when I was a teenager and heard his war stories, now I look at my eldest grandson, who is the same age, and it hits home how very young and vulnerable my father and his companions were, babes in the woods with the fate of the Western world on their shoulders.

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