by Dean Ralph

Created on: October 13, 2009

SOMEDAY
I walked out the front door of the old farm house. There were cars lining the long dirt driveway. Voices echoed throughout the small building. You could here the quiet conversations resonating out through the screen door onto the porch. There on the front steps sat Sandy, my older brother's daughter. She was 16 years old at the time. I sat down next to her and offered her a soda that I'd brought out with me.

Sandy had changed a lot in the three years since my brother had re-enlisted. She was no longer the fun loving girl that she used to be. She had gotten into the goth crowd, and she always seemed angry. Angry at everyone, angry at no one. She didn't seem to care about anything. It only got worse after my brother deployed to combat.

She looked over at me, the tears that had been flowing for the past few days, now gone, the pain being replaced with anger and confusion. Why, Uncle Russ? Why?

Assuming that she was referring to the recent death of her father, I answered the best I knew how. Someday, Sweetheart, someday.

Looking confused as ever, she stared at me. Why did he have to join the military. He had already served once, why did he have to join again and leave Mom and the rest of Us alone?

Not really sure exactly what it was she wanted to hear, I sat there quietly for a minute, trying to find an answer.

I have heard all the Honor, Country, duty and Patriotism junk, Uncle Russ. I want a real answer, the truth. She said, holding back a tear.

Standing up I reached my hand down to help her. Let's take a walk. I told her.

She grabbed my hand and we started walking down the lane to the dirt road.

I don't know if this will help you any, but I am going to tell you a story, one that I didn't understand until a few years after it was told to me. I began Your Grandfather, my father, fought in a war. One he didn't understand, yet he felt it was his duty as a citizen to fight for his country when they needed him.

I know that because Grandpa Stan served in Vietnam with Grandpa Martin, that is how my Mom and Dad met. I have heard the story before, Uncle Russ. But this is different. She insisted

I know you have heard that part of the story, but there is more to it. I continued. Grandpa Stan came home from the war and worked this farm for 25 years, leaving the war behind him, but never forgetting those who served and didn't come home. He put up the American flag and the MIA/KIA flag on the pole in the yard every single day. It wasn't until years after

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