When I worked for the Red Cross I met an older gentleman who came to donate that had a tattoo of numbers on his arm. Of course, one of the questions is about tattoos and, finding he had one, I asked about it. He just bowed his head a little and said he was a POW in WWII and that was the number he got there. He started to tear up and I was so mortified that I had caused him this distress.
He just patted my arm and said not to worry, that he just had a hard time talking about it. I started to cry right along with him and we just sat still for a little until we could both proceed.
It was the very first time I had met a POW. I can't imagine just how deeply those emotional scars of war must run~ to still be that fresh all these years later.
Thank you all for taking those scars for me and my freedom.