The Real Knight
I look out my window, and I see the hundreds of people that I live
with…I see the cars that drive by…I see my favorite bar and grill across the
street…but I also see something else. I
see a reflection of a man. The
short brown hair, the dark brown eyes, the five o’clock shadow of stubble on
his face, the tired, almost war-torn look in his eyes.
I see a man who has seen and done things most haven’t at his age. I see a man that has lived through what would equate to
hell…and who has survived it. I
sit back in my chair, and I close those tired eyes, and the memories of that
hell past flash before me…always present, always the same.
A constant reminder of what I have gone through.
The nearly eight years of beatings, the harsh discipline of a hardened
combat drill sergeant. The years of parents fighting, and the blame they cast on me.
High School…enough said there. Love…that
was the hardest of all. The
near-wife experience (Sounds a lot like near-death experience…funny, aint it?)
that left me what I am today…the shell of a man.
I was torn apart from the inside out, and left for dead.
But I’m alive. I finally
can say I’m alive…because I know I love her…not for who she is now…no,
the Alexandra of know killed me…but I love the woman I knelt down in front of,
and asked to marry me. But it’s a
different love. One of thanks…for
teaching me that love is a dangerous thing.
But someone else taught me something…and I love her with all my heart. She taught me that even from miles away, love can exist.
She taught me that I am alive, and I am capable of love again.
For that, she’ll never truly know how thankful I am.
I read a poem once, hanging on the wall of my father’s basement in
Michigan. A poem that I believe
sums up in a nutshell who I am…and what my life has led me to become. It’s written by George L. Skypeck.
I was that which
others did not want to be.
I went where others
feared to go,
And did what others
feared to do.
I asked nothing from
those who gave nothing,
And reluctantly
accepted the thought of
Eternal
loneliness…should I fail.
I have seen the face
of terror;
Felt the stinging
cold of fear;
And enjoyed the
sweet taste of a moments love.
I have cried,
pained, and hoped…but most of all,
I have lived times
others would say were best forgotten.
At least someday I
will be able to say that I was proud of
A SOLDIER
That’s what I am…a Soldier. A
soldier in life, and for my country. I
look again out the window, and see the people that I live with, the people that
I know, are friends with, and speak to. I
also see a reflection…the reflection of a man, with his stubble, his dark hair
and eyes, that tired war-torn look in his eyes…and a smile on his face. A small smile, one of a man who has done what few are able
to. In the words of Red, in the
Shawshank Redemption…”The man who crawled through five hundred yards of the
foulest stink I can’t even imagine…and he came out clean on the other
side…” Thomas.
I am alive…I think to myself that I’ll always be tired…and always
be the somber soldier in life…but, I’m better for it…