What stories a picture can tell...

This photo has come a long way and travelled many miles through war torn villages, rain and snow, and valleys so low.  My father carried it with him inside his uniform.  A photo of what waited at home for him after his long journey.  Yes that is me and my mother.  She was 22 years old here.  I was about six or seven months old.  Not long after this photo, and on Christmas Eve 1944,
my dad was wounded.  He stepped on a landmine and spent many months in hospital in England, before he was shipped home on a hospital ship in 1945.  My mother and I shipped out the same day as he on the first passenger ship to cross the Atlantic.  Unbeknown to my mother, the hospital ship sat in the birth across from ours, and my father saw us from his ship.  I was running down the deck with my mother running after me.  I met my father for the first time at the dock in Montreal, when I was 18 months old.  My mother had shown me my father's picture from the time I was born, and when she asked me who he was, I answered, "Daddy".  To which my dad's seven sisters, started to cry.  Now how is that for making a big impression?  LOL.