My first memory...

I was born many years ago in Padua, in a family of farmers. That year, groups of partisans used to pass in front of my place. At times, german warplanes used to fly low in order to shoot on them.
My first memory: me running in the garden towards the crackling of the shots and my mother shouting and running after me to bring me back home.

It’s strange but I don’t remember the fear. Maybe it was just curiosity.