I wanted to end this post by sharing these mementoes from my father, who was just eighteen years old when he enlisted in World War II.

He was a city kid from Chicago and had never driven a car—he rode his bike or took the bus wherever he needed to go. His father, my grandfather Rangwald Hansen, was a milkman and famously drove the last horse-drawn milk wagon in Chicago. I don’t know when he finally agreed to give up his horse and drive a truck, but my father always said it was long after everyone else had abandoned horses as transportation.

Despite never having driven a car, my father was placed in the pilot training program. By age nineteen, he was stationed in the Philippines, flying a P-47 Thunderbolt. Every pilot named his plane, and because their squadron happened to include a Disney cartoonist, each plane was painted with a fanciful name and artwork. The guys called my dad “The Swede,” after his heritage, and that’s how his plane got its name.

He flew with the 69th Bomber Squadron, known as the Werewolves—a squadron that is still active today. The Disney cartoonist also designed their Werewolf logo, seen above. For decades, the WWII veterans of the 69th met yearly for reunions. When the modern squadron learned of these gatherings, they hosted the older vets at whichever Air Force base they were stationed. These trips meant everything to my father, and one year he even brought my then–twelve-year-old son along, who received a full week of attention from our nation’s brightest and best.

The oil painting shown here was painted by his mother—my Nana, Valborg Lynnea Hansen. During the war, my grandparents and my father’s younger siblings moved to Southern California and bought a small chicken ranch, which is the home I remember growing up. They had animals of all kinds and always dogs and cats—but the supreme ruler, second only to my Papa, was King, a Norwegian Elkhound.

I remember King as a proud, very businesslike dog—a dog who had a job on the ranch and took it seriously. He was friendly enough with the dozen grandchildren, but the only person he truly listened to was Papa. He stayed at his side every minute of the day. Don’t you just love dogs?

My Nana also made the charcoal drawing of King shown below. I honestly don’t know how I ended up with this particular picture, given how many grandchildren there were, but I’m so grateful that I did.

These are the things I keep now—not out of obligation, but because they still hold meaning, memory, and love.