When she asked, it was as if life was a record and it had just skipped. Eyes so innocent, an honest question. I asked her why the question...she said she heard it was Patriot Day. "Is it about that place you took us in New York City where the bad guys hurt all of those people and they all turned into angels and went to heaven? That place called 9 11?"
I had no words, boyos. Just a knot in my throat. I didn't want to spoil her naive curiosity, and her genuine care and concern, nor did I feel compelled to get into the complexities of the politics of 9-11. I just wanted to be a Daddy with a reasonably good answer.
"A Patriot is someone who is willing to give his or her life for their country, and sometimes actually does."
She paused, looking thoughtful, furrowing her brow.
"But Daddy, they weren't soldiers in that building."
"No sweetheart, they weren't."
Another pause, and then "We had a moment of silence for the Patriots, Daddy. I'm glad you are not a Patriot"
What a moment of confusion for me. How could I tell her I think of myself as a patriot, offered myself as a patriot, before 9-11 and after? That I love my country and swore an oath to defend it? How could I tell her that only a few weeks before her first birthday in DC , we lived not far from the Pentagon? That while I tried twice to get back in the military, Mommy was building strong arguments for leaving the Capital? That I get choked up even thinking about 9-11 for more than a minute? I could say none of these things, though I felt them viscerally.
"I am glad I'm not a Patriot too, Victoria" I managed, tears stinging my eyes. God bless America.
In the rush to get hay in, to make preparations for the hunting months, in the excitement of the
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