September 3, 1939 – Detroit, Michigan

"Hey, Ivan, wait up!"

Ivan Kinchloe heard the call and paused in his stride, turning just in time to see his younger sister run out of the house, still wearing her dressing gown. She had obviously been sent straight from the breakfast table to fetch him because she clutched a half-eaten piece of toast in one hand and the newspaper in the other.

"What is it, pipsqueak?" Kinch asked, his long arm snaking out to yank on one of her braids.

She tried to swat him with the rolled up newspaper, but her reach was too short. Kinch laughed, a deep laugh that echoed up and down the empty street. "I've been instructed to inform you that supper tonight will be at six," she told him haughtily, spinning on her heel to head back into the house. "And for your information, I am NOT a pipsqueak," she added, turning to survey Kinch disdainfully over her shoulder.

Kinch just laughed again, reaching his hand out to easily catch her wrist. "Now, you were saying?" he asked jovially, keeping a firm grip on her wrist.

"You know," she started, "you've always been my favourite brother." She dropped the paper, using her free hand to try and pry his fingers off of her arm.

"I'm also your only brother," Kinch reminded her, watching as she unsuccessfully attempted to free herself.

"Well," she retorted, "that's just a minor technicality."

"However you want to see it, pipsqueak," Kinch replied, taking the toast out of her hand and taking a bite.

She rolled her eyes, giving up her toast for lost. "I was done eating that anyway," she told him, hoping to deflate his victory a little.

"Sure you were," Kinch answered, taking another big bite and making a show of licking his lips in satisfaction.

She sighed in response. "You going to let me go any time soon?" she asked, feigning nonchalance.

"Sounds like someone has some big plans today," Kinch noted, polishing off the last of his sister's breakfast.

"I'm just meeting Cliff at the park later," she revealed reluctantly.

"That's why you're so anxious to get going," Kinch commented. "You've got meet your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"Sure he's not. And I'm the queen of England."

"Well, good morning your royal highness," she retorted, bowing as low as she could with one wrist still in Kinch's grip. "Now will you let me go?"

Kinch rubbed his chin for a moment as he pretended to ponder. Finally, he let her go, calling, "Have fun with your boyfriend."

"He's NOT my boyfriend!" she shot back, stooping to pick up the paper.

Kinch reached out to snag it first. "Whatever you say, pipsqueak."

She crossed her arms over her chest, staring angrily at Kinch. "I am not a pipsqueak," she replied angrily.

"Goodbye, Susie," he told her, finally resuming his walk away from the house.

"My name is Susan, you doorknob!" she yelled after him.

Kinch laughed again as he headed down the street toward the bus stop. He was now running a little later than usual, but that only meant that he wouldn't have to wait as long for the bus. He was looking forward to getting to work; he and his father worked together, the only father and son team employed by the Detroit phone company. His father had been at work for a couple of hours already, but Kinch had pulled a later shift, something he was grateful for. Still, he liked being busy; for him, getting to work with his father was just a bonus.

Kinch and his father shared a relationship that was more than just father and son, even though James Kinchloe hadn't been around for most of Kinch's childhood. He had had to work two and sometimes three jobs in order to make ends meet. But he had never complained and he always been there whenever Kinch and his sister needed him.

Kinch respected him for that, especially when he was old enough to start working himself. And if anything, that was what drew them together. Although working under his father was awkward at first, Kinch had quickly proved himself an able worker and had moved up through the ranks. It was working as an equal with his father that had taught Kinch the most important lessons about the true measure of a man.

Reflecting briefly on his relationship with his father, Kinch turned his attention to the newspaper that he had snatched away from his sister. He found himself using the bus rides for serious introspective thought all too often and welcomed the lighter respite of the news. That was until he caught sight of the bold headline that burst off the page.

World at War – Warsaw Still Under Heavy Bombardment