Whenever I would ask my grandfather about the war, he would clam up like a spy. Actually, he really was a spy. Grandma would then begin showing me his military photographs, how he learned the language, how he arrived in Germany and, of course, happily show off his medals. At the age of 12 I wanted to know what it was really like in the war. But Grandpa would only wave his hand at the TV, as if to say, watch “Seventeen Moments of Spring.” I would watch, be impressed, and then ask again, “But tell me something about you.” Silence. He drank habitually, like all of his war-time buddies from the front lines. And then it seemed he would begin to feel better. He would begin to smile and cut out paper swans for me. Apparently the port wine helped him for a while to forget what was terrible to remember. Then I, taking advantage of the moment, would ask him again about the war, and again I would not receive an intelligent answer. Jordan Petersen, a professor of psychology at the Universit