My father served in the army in Europe during World War II. His job was to be a mechanic, fixing everything from jeeps to tanks to Howitzers. He didn’t talk much about what he did or saw during his service and we somehow knew not to push it. Once, after a few beers on a Saturday night, dad started talking about being sent to the Battle of the Bulge to repair a tank or artillery gun. He’d never been that close to the real fighting during his time overseas and he admitted he was scared to death the whole time but he made it back unharmed.