text: My grandfather was born in England in 1926. In 1939, World War II broke out. Like many English children of his generation, he was sent by his parents to live in Canada to escape the Blitz. When he returned to his home country he barely recognized it. England had been ravaged by the war and he felt as though there was nothing for him there, so he left. He went back across the Atlantic, but this time to Philadelphia. It was there that he met my grandmother. Before she met my grandfather, my grandmother had been previously married to a US Air Force bomber pilot who was stationed in England during the war. While in England, he began an affair with another woman that caused the disintegration of his marriage to my grandmother. She eventually met my grandfather, they got married, and they gave birth to my mother who eventually met my father and gave birth to me. I use to joke to people that if it weren’t for Hitler starting the war then I would never have been born. The other day, I told this to a friend who told me that if it weren’t for every single event in the history of the universe, from the Big Bang till the precise moment when a single sperm from my father entered a single egg from my mother, then I would never have been born. It’s comforting to know that I no longer have to exclusively thank Hitler for my existence.