The Lost Child of WWII

My name is Leonida, but people just call me Nida. I grew up in the Philippines during the great warof my time. I had a loving father who adored me. He was my protector and teacher. He was my rock, my hero, my father. He made me feel safe and he shaped me into the person I am today. Withouthis love and teachings of what is right, I strongly believe that I would not have what I have today. Imay be overstating him a bit. My last memory of him was when I was only four years old, yet even atthat young of an age, he captivated my imagination with his stories. I remember walking with himwhen I was even younger. I guess my earliest memories were from when I was as young as twoyears old. He was my inspiration and my hope, and he was taken from me when I was just fouryears old. I watched with tears in my eyes as he was killed at the hands of the Japanese forsafeguarding some Americans by hiding them in a cave. I will never forget his last words to me. Bestrong, Nida, I love you.