With Sons in Harm’s Way, He Is Both Proud, Anxious

I am a father of three boys, two of whom are involved in the fight to free Iraq.

Every day I realize that having two sons in the military effort to stop terrorism does not make me someone special or different from so many. I am only one father among thousands who pray every night for the safety of our children.

I have joined a group of parents who have given and in many instances sacrificed for the freedoms we hold dear. I did not serve in the military but have visited the Vietnam War Memorial. I have walked through countless cemeteries filled with memorials for sons, just like mine, who paid the supreme price for freedom.

Should someone feel sorry for me or lecture me for allowing my sons to commit to such a grave task? Would someone tell me that my sons are in error for being at their command post and following orders, even if it means war? Might someone call me a bad father for not talking my sons out of joining the military to begin with?

I think not.

Every day I wonder where they are, if they are well, how they are doing. When the news of casualties is delivered by a reporter with a canned face of concern, do I hope it is someone else’s son and not my own? Do I only wish for my own sons’ safety at the expense of others? How could I? How could I be a true father and be so selfish?

For at the same moment, another father sits in his home and listens to the same reporter. He too hopes his son is well. He too wonders how his son feels, whether he is homesick, suffering and what awful pictures of war has he already beheld at such a young age. He is asking if his son will return.

Memory after memory of my sons’ lives flood my mind, from the first fishing trip to their favorite Halloween and, of course, the school plays. I remember watching them both play football together at Costa Mesa High School, arguing over who gets the last soda, who is the faster, who is better at Madden Football.

The memory of my 20-year-old Marine standing at attention in the front of our house to salute his 22-year-old brother as he left for a U.S. Navy base in Norfolk, Va., will be in my heart and mind forever.

Do not feel sorry for me or any parent whose son or daughter is now in harm’s way.

Do not burden us with your thoughts of whether this war should happen or not, for now that is not our concern.

Our concern is for our sons and daughters, and for those who stand with them and watch their back every day.

And when they return home, please show your respect for them. Shake their hands in the airport, thank them for their commitment to the freedoms we hold so dear. Allow them your eye and a nod of appreciation for the sacrifices they are making. And remember that not all of them will come home again.

Somewhere there is a father just like me who will receive the news that his son or daughter has been lost in this great conflict to stop terrorism. That father will join another group of parents, an elite group no one signs up for or desires to join.

They, of all fathers, of all mothers, receive my applause, my ovation, my tears, my heartfelt empathy that words cannot express. Their loss shall be mine; I will share their pain and embrace their pride.

Every time I hear the national anthem, a silent prayer falls from my heart for every father, for every mother who has joined such an elite group. Their sacrifice is why we are the United States of America, land of the free, home of the brave.

Semper fidelis. “Anchors Aweigh.”.

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Curtis Cleveland lives in Costa Mesa.