my grandpa who basically raised me told me this story about living through the war when I was three years old about how most people hid under tables or stairs during air raids but he and my mom would stand in the doorway to watch the planes because they absolutely logically knew that if their house was bombed they would die no matter where they were and they preferred to not die under the stairs anyway. I like can’t think of a childhood memory that has defined the way I live my life more than that.