I took a shower and went into my room. I got into my twin bed.

My brother had taken a shower too and had gotten into his twin bed.

I was in kindergarten or first grade, it was a weekend afternoon, and between us was a 16mm movie projector.

We lived in Millington, Tennessee.

My father was an instructor at the Naval Air Technical Training Center, and had access to actual WWII film footage.

We’d get him to bring reels home, and on the weekend we’d watch them.

I’m told sometimes it was just my brother and I.

Sometimes the room was packed with neighborhood kids.

It was a weekend event.

I remember one of the reels. It was black-and-white footage taken on Iwo Jima.

In one part American troops were spewing a stream from a flame-thrower into a cave.

I think Japanese came out on fire.

They were films of Iwo Jima.

For some reason I called them the “Fumes of Eema Jeema.”

I thought it was pretty good stuff.

We lived in one-story brick row housing, with four units to a row.

It was Navy housing, but it wasn’t on a base.

We lived in the middle-right unit.

I was friends with the kid in the middle-left unit.

One day he made me mad and I chased him around the corner to the back.

He went inside his door and locked it.

He felt safe.

The back doors had small window panes on the upper half, and he put his nose against a pane, stuck his thumbs in his ears, and wiggled his fingers at me.

I hit him in the nose, broke the glass, and got some small cuts on my hand. It was a stupid thing to do.

Fortunately, he wasn’t hurt.

I grew up and retained my interest in war documentary film footage.

In my early 30s I’d watch the 26-episode “World at War” series.

It aired on television occasionally.

I had a new girlfriend and she’d reluctantly watch it with me.

She finally refused to watch it again because she dreamed one night that Nazis were chasing her.

I have to pick and choose my spots these days, but I still find WWII documentary film footage interesting.