Here are my memories of Pearl Harbor. I remember at church that day, there was a buzz after the service that something awful had happened. My parents and I and my two sisters (two brothers who'd later fight had already moved from home) rushed home and sat on the living room in front of the Philco console radio/record changer to listen to the news. I was struggling with understanding it all, operating with a two-year old brain. I did understand that many Americans had died and that the future was uncertain. Over the next several year, we spent a lot of time in front of that radio. My mother was addicted to a commentator named "Gabriel Heatter," whom I detested. The continuing narrative, I've compared to pulling for a losing football team, although my wife says that's banal. So, the first few years of my life, I associate with the family getting down on our knees nightly and praying that the two blue stars hanging in our front window would not be exchanged for gold, then next praying for all the other soldiers fighting. I bedeviled them with specific questions about the exact bombing range of the Germans and why we had to have blackout shades and tape on our headlights, if they couldn't reach us yet. I guess I was a tough kid to raise...