A little history to my reasons for being. (This was my 2nd morning coffee post)

I was a 9-year-old American officer’s son when I
walked through Dachau. I remember the ovens, the
showers—stains still on the walls.

I remember the ash piles, before they had soaked
into the dirt. This was 1954. It had been 9 years and the
ash still hadn’t disappeared.

History is repeating itself, and nobody is stopping it.

As I grew older, I could never understand how the
Germans allowed this to happen.

Now I know:
One part stupidity,
One part misplaced trust,
Two parts apathy.

God, how I’m going to hate saying, “I told you so.”