Ears, walking away-

So its July 4th, 2010. Independence Day has always been a special day in the Williams household, going back to when I was a kid. The Williams lineage goes clear back to WW I with my grandfather. This one, how ever, is different.

I have been thinking. What do you say, those last words, to you little child, before they go off to war-again? What are those last precious sounds you want them to remember coming from your mouth, the last vision of you, as a parent, speaking to them, saying something so important? It has to count. It has to mean something-at least to you.

My little boy is saddling up again and leaving for Iraq. At least that where the first leg of his second deployment takes him. He was in Tikrit, Iraq the first time, Saddam's home town, two years ago. Now, he commands a team and is responsible for their lives in addition to his own. He will leave his new bride of three months and leaves tomorrow. What do you tell him that you want him to know, want him to remember, before he leaves, that he doesn't already know? What words, what cluster of sounds, do you want to put together and in just the right order, that you want him to hear, that you haven't said, used, formed in various ways over the years before?

There are a lot a things, especially a father, wants to say. A last piece of advice, a kind word, a question, some blustery quote, anything. We want to say anything and keep saying it to the ears walking away.



Because we know.



We know there is nothing more we can say that will make anything wash the chalkboard clean. We can add to it-this chalkboard, of all the memories we have generated over the years, but all that was said or done is there already, written in our memory; in our child's memory. If we did it right, those ears walking away have already heard it, seen it, tasted it, felt it with their own hands and seen it in the aging eyes of those they call 'father.'



For thousands of year, people have had to do what we now have to do, say good-bye to a part of us, our family- my child, as they walk off to face danger. For most, so it is with my son, it is to stand for a belief that there is Evil and this Evil is destroying those that are not strong enough to withstand it themselves. Sure, there is a whole political side to it, but none of that matters when it comes down to those wearing the boots. At this level, this level where two sides meet and look into each other's eyes, where names are attached to faces, the level most politicians have never seen, and some have avoided themselves, its personal, intimate, strikingly pure.



At this level, our best and brightest are forged. They do not develop their character here, they expose it.



This is not a place for politicians, or those weak in their character and morals. This is not a place for those slow at decisions or who waiver in action. This environment is where the test is made, not only for those leaving, but also for those staying behind. They are tested as well.



Sometimes, I think its harder to stay than to go. I always felt it was better to be in the melee than to watch. At least you had a feeling of some control, some belief the steps you take are under your power, your decision.

Where do we get such individuals, men and women, who can do such deeds? There's a whole list of reasons these people join the military or any first response group for that matter-good insurance, nice retirement, steady income, three hot meals a day, a personal pride, the Flag, God, a whole bunch of reasons. For my little boy, its all those things as well, but also he's going because he has orders to and most importantly, he will not leave his team without his experience from the first tour to protect them. He can't leave them-at least not now.

I went out this morning and drove to get some food for the sleeping little ones at the house. I drove through a neighborhood, also still asleep. I went into a crowded restaurant, got what I went there for, and drove home. No where along that route did I even think about a bomb going off, being shot at, kidnapped, or my life threatened by martyrs wanting a random piece of me. Not that some neighborhoods aren't a little 'sporty' but at least in this area, at this time, there was a natural calm and peace to the world. There are a lot of people who wrote checks over the centuries so that this could be so. My little boy was one of them. Thanks son.



We come back to the question of what are those last words. What do I want my boy to know? The conclusion is there is nothing. He has heard it all. He knows all that I would want to tell him because he has heard it from me for years. Those things that count, those words that have the real meaning-he knows them. He can close his eyes at night and hear me say them. I would rather he think of his beautiful bride and I am sure I will be way down on the list, but when he needs a word or two, he can tap that part of his brain and find me. I could remind him to duck or to run faster between buildings, love his team by caring for them, wear clean dry socks, pray, but he knows this better than I. I don't need to tell him. He knows.



I guess, when he walks away, when I lose sight of his face and can't smell his cologne anymore, it is then that the work begins. There is really only one things my little boy needs to hear from this father. Everything else has been said, instructed, shared-everything but one. There is one thing that no human should ever get tired of hearing or saying.

I love you.



Oh, and maybe-stay low and run fast.

To those standing watch, thanks.