| Last weekend while visiting family, I took my 8-year-old son, Victor, to a military history museum in Budapest, Hungary. Like many little boys, he was fascinated by the cannons, machine guns and colorful uniforms on display. Running up and down the aisles, he cried, "This place is great! We have to come back!" He beamed with pride as he could identify many of the European countries on the old maps on the walls. My father had taken me to the same museum when I was about Victor's age. And I recall that I was similarly enthusiastic. By the time I was in third grade, I had become enamored with the history of World War II. Other kids from Pittsburgh wanted to grow up to be Roberto Clemente or Terry Bradshaw. I wanted to become a military historian. But walking through the same museum with my son last weekend, I had a very different perspective. | 
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