Not meaning to eavesdrop,
I listen as my son and his friend
discuss their grandfathers' war experiences
in the backseat.
I'm fascinated (what dad wouldn't be)
but also troubled,
not because I have any illusions about war
(I don't)
but because I have no illusions about my son.
Nice kid
but what we called a spastic growing up.
Couldn't punch his way out of a wet paper bag
or hit the ground with his cap.
Me, I played what the season offered,
basketball in the winter,
baseball after the thaw,
football as the leaves fell.
I couldn't get enough, in other words,
of what my son will have none of.
But he's got his mother's heart,
so when he says to his friend,
I would never kill anybody
and would deliberately miss
if I had to shoot. In fact,
I would do everything I could
to make sure nobody died.
Myself, maybe,
but nobody else,
I have to pull over.