The cold, grey weather perfectly matched the duty
at hand; but, of course, driving your son to an uncertain
future isn't supposed to happen on a bright and sunny day.
Mother couldn't bear to go, so it would be just the two of us.
As we walked out onto the porch
she clung to the boy; weeping uncontrollably. He couldn't
look at her for fear he'd lose the tight grip he kept on
his emotions - an unfortunate inheritance he'd received from me.
Once he'd broken away from her grieving grip
we stepped off the porch. She kept herself from
collapsing by holding onto the screen door.
Her sobbing didn't go unnoticed as we crossed
the lawn, but neither of us looked back.
We drove the half-dozen miles to the train
station in silence, and within those wordless moments
I reflected on the regret I felt for being such a distant
father. I never told the boy I loved him; I just didn't know
how. I prayed that somehow he understood that I did.
Along the way he stared out the
window at the only world he'd ever known:
the woods he'd explored as a boy. The creek
he'd once dammed up - the corn fields he and his
friends ran through as carefree children.
I wondered if he understood that he
might be seeing his home for the last time,
but then I remembered - youth doesn't think that way.
I'd been young once.
"The war to end all wars"
That's what they called it. I was 17 and ready to
answer the call - the call to defend our country
against the tyranny of the dreaded Kaiser.
I and my buddies had enlisted, believing that
battle and bravery were romantic notions.
How quickly we learned that the reality was
something quite different.
Arriving at the station I parked and opened the trunk.
I attempted to help with the bags, but he insisted I didn't.
We walked out onto the platform and stood in silence.
Two strangers, wondering how to say goodbye.
Beautiful
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