I very much want in this world.

Yesterday, the clock was turned back. To Dec. 7, 1941. I heard on National Public Radio the broadcasts from that fateful day. And I pondered what was going on in my mind that day. I was 6. A first grader at a school in Chicago. And I knew there had been a calamity. Because of the way my parents reacted. I was just beginning to make sense of the world. Despite being illiterate. I was just beginning to read and write. A novel new concept of communicating. In 5 more years, I'd be in the 6th grade. And publishing my own weekly neighborhood newspaper. The Riverlawn Gazette. In a small town (population 10,301) in southern Wisconsin. And World War II had ended. And America was prospering. After the Great Depression. Yes, I was learning that war helps to bring prosperity. In Chicago, we had been homeless for a while. Living out of a car. But we found refuge in the basement of my uncle's home. A basement we shared with by paternal grandparents. But by the time I finished first grade, we had moved to Wisconsin, and we rented our own home at 132 Riverlawn Avenue. My brother and I shared a bedroom. And we had two bathrooms. One downstairs. One upstairs. And we had a telephone. The number was 954-W. It was a party line. Shared with the neighbor across the street. And when we placed a call, the operator came on line, and made the connection for us. Anyway, I was aware that a war was going on. In the Pacific. In Europe. War was a part of life. We had drills at Douglas School. Going to the basement. Where we'd stay in case of a bombing. Albeit, that prospect was remote. I walked to school. Came home for lunch. And returned to school for the afternoon session. One day I came home and there was my Uncle Norman. My mother's brother. In uniform. On furlough. From Gen. Patton's army in Germany. He brought us a Nazi swatzika armband. Mom cautioned us not to parade around wearing the armband. I remember, too, that Uncle Norman was going deaf. From the blasts of artillery. Yes, I was learning that war was not only brutal, but deafening loud, too. We kids went to the movie theater. And the feature films were preceded by newsreels. Showing the gore of war. Finally, the war ended. I remember going downtown. To see the celebration. People formed a congoline. And danced in and out of the stores. I remember a stranger. Coming up to me. And giving me 50 cents. He was so happy. Guess he wanted to distribute the wealth. Peace had come. At least for a while. I was to move on to another school. A junior high school. To the 7th grade. And one Sunday morning. We all woke up. And learned that dad had gone down to the basement. And hung himself. Guess he wanted out of this world. But I had already decided that I very much wanted in this world. Still do. --Jim Broede