I remember the first time I heard it as a child. I remember the reverence in my father’s voice. He used it only once in all of my memories. And I remember, vividly, the man he used it on. The pride in my dad’s eyes. The smile. I’ll never forget that smile. It was one I had never seen before. Meant for a special purpose. Meant for a special person.
I spent the rest of my life trying to earn that smile from him…
I remember the first time I heard it used on the battlefield. It was just a whisper. He was shouting it at me, but I only heard it as a whisper. I had just temporarily lost my hearing so everything he was shouting at me came to my ears as a whisper. Hearing it made me feel sick. Disgusted. As he sat beside me, laughing about the circumstances, I tried not to vomit. He was envious, I could tell. And that made me all the sicker.
It took me many, many years to figure out that my father didn’t think the soldier was a hero. Not the solider, but the father. My dad didn’t care that the man went to war. My dad cared that he put his children first. That he sacrificed everything for the good of his family. My dad was proud of another man’s parenting abilities. And, looking back, I realize I never stood a chance at being a hero in my dad's eyes. Because what example did I have of being a good dad?
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