I knew my Dad, a young husband, from a yellowed photograph, which was taken when my parents wedded.
In the picture, Dad was against by Mom, a fair lady in a fashion dress and hair style in those days.
In his new millitary uniform, with a cluster of medal pinched on his left chest, Dad was smiling in his typical one, raising a corner of the mouth slightly. Clearly shining the eyes, and gleaming with confidence honed by countless battles during the wars in Anti-Japanese and Liberation.
It was Dad, in this yellowed-old picture.
No one would know how I am proud of this handsome and heroic man, even though in today, when I face his muddy eyes under the grey-white eyebrow.
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