ON A BLUSTERY WINTER afternoon in 194<br >waited with me in Penn Station for the trai<br >take me away to the army center where I<br >my World War II military service. He looke<br >tears clouding his eyes， hugged me tightly， ]<br >the cheek and told me good-bye in a cl~<br >Then， wanting to give me something that<br >took off his watch and handed it to me.<br > As I walked toward the train， I looked<br >who was waving gently and sadly to his sev<br >old son， and suddenly I noticed that several<br >watching us with bemusement. I sensed th<br >an intimate farewell was perhaps unconv<br >tween a father and son. My feeling was eml~<br >family scene occurring to my right. An~<br >gravely smiling， gave his son a firm pat on<br >said， "I m proud of you."<br ><br >
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