I belong to a rare generation—those born between 1930 and 1946—the smallest cohort of children since the early 1900s. We were shaped by hardship and hope, by the shadows of war and the dawn of prosperity.

I remember ration books for everything—gas, sugar, shoes, even stoves. We saved tin foil and poured meat drippings into cans. Cars sat idle on blocks because tires were scarce.

Gold stars hung in windows, silent tributes to sons who never came home.

We were the last to grow up without television, relying on imagination to bring radio stories to life. Saturdays meant newsreels sandwiched between westerns and........

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