Saturday, November 11, 2006

I Remember. . .

I remember a man who spared his enemy by letting him play dead.

I remember a man who walked from Russia to the edge of France with nothing but a tattered pair of boots, just to see his family again.

I remember a family that had to report their location to the authorities because their heritage made them “the enemy”.

I remember a man who buried his mother in frozen ground, wrote his older brother to say she had died, and then raised eight of his siblings and ran a farm with only his older sister to aid him.

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