My Earliest Memory

My earliest memory, which for years I thought was only a dream, is of the day my father left for Europe in World War II. I was almost 2 at the time. My mother took my 1 month old sister and me to the army post in Lompoc, Calif (Camp Cooke, I believe) to see off the troops (11th Armored Division for you WW2 buffs). After the train(s) left, we drove back to the house we were living in. My dream, which I had about once a month until I was about 12-13, was of my mother stopping along the side of this dirt road and crying on my shoulder. In later conversations with her, she told me that that was what had happened. I tried to comfort her by feeding back what I thought I had heard "Don't worry Mommy, Daddy take care of Jesus."