I met my father for the first time when I was 13 months old and he came home from World War II. He had served in the “Pacific Theater,” and a posed photo of us shows me wearing the gold-braided cap of his Navy uniform and looking quite like him, except that he’s smiling, and I’m not. My question about what our first meeting was like for me is unanswerable, but neither do I know what that moment was like for him. If I could tell you, I would, but I never asked.