Peace Statue in Nagasaki

If you are my age you grew up with the bomb. As a child I would peer out the window of my Dad’s Chevrolet as we drove to my grandparent’s home in Paris (Texas) and wonder if any of the summer clouds billowing in the sky signaled an attack (Dad! That one looks like a mushroom!). In October 1962, at Landrum Junior High in Houston, we drilled daily during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The siren would howl, and we would drop under our desks and cover our heads in expectation of the big blast.