And a Dad

By the time I could remember,

I had a pretty ordinary family.

Two older brothers,

Matthew, fourteen years older,

Jacob, twelve years older,

And a sister,

Leah, six years older,

With a high school art teacher for a mother,

And a dad.

An army tanker.

In my childhood,

My dad was gone for most of it,

Iran, Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan,

Deployed often.

When he was home, it was different.

As a child, I questioned a lot.

At the age of daddy, it was

"Daddy, why are you and Matthew or Jacob fighting?", physically,

"Daddy, why are you yelling at Leah?"

"Daddy, why are you and mommy fighting?", verbally.

Then, he would be deployed,

When he got back, it was the age of dad.

"Dad, why is mom calling you a cheater?"

"Dad, who's that woman?"

"Dad why didn't you come home last night?"

By the age of eleven, my parents were getting divorced.

My dad has broken a disc in my mom's neck,

Which pains her even now.

Then the calls started.

"Dad, I miss you"

"Dad, I love you"

"Dad, why don't you call as often anymore?"

By the age of fourteen, the calls stopped.

Despite all this, I respect the man.

Love, in a family sense, is too strong.

Respect, not as a person.

As a person he is vile, wicked, and greedy.

As a soldier, he has done so much for this coutnry.

He is a good patriot.

He is a bad dad.

He is our modern American military men.