Like Soldier like Son.

My dad, a tired old Italian special-forces veteran, a man I stare across from the dinner table, a man that has confirmed kills to his name, a man that can never switch off combat mode. When I look at you, I see myself, I see a man whose soul and creative ambition died on the battlefield, a man who smiles at his loving family but jumps at the slightest noise.

These mementos of conflict that litter the house, why must you hold onto them? You want peace but you surround yourself with the tools of war. Your demons will be there to haunt you forever, but can’t you at least banish them from your presence? It’s like you never came back from Iraq, It’s like you are still searching for terrorists in Central Africa, it’s like you are still trying to bring peace to a family that has no conflict. You miss war like you miss a loved one. Where were you for all those birthdays you missed? Why do you have to keep going back to war?

You are a stranger in your own home, sometimes to your own family. You wander the house in search for purpose, but your mission is your family. I’m not a fortified bunker that you avoid or keep at a distance; can’t you talk to me like I’m a real person?

I love you dad, but you scare me the most, for your reflection in the mirror is of your son that sees what you’ve become, and what he might become.