Pete Tenereillo

I remember very few things from my childhood. But I remember vividly the day my dad returned on leave from the Vietnam War. Tanned nearly black, lean and mean, thick black hair and mustache. And so happy to see me. What I didn’t know at the time: My father flew 125 night missions over the Ho Chi Mihn Trail. Half of his squadron never returned. Some kids never saw their dad again. But I did, and I will never forget.