Clicking Hand.

Refugees. You see. They have no place to go. No place to flow. Lie low. Don't pop up your heads. Don't look for bread. Bodies are lying in your streets. Their meat is cooking in the heat, you see.

Look out for your own. Hold tight to them. Fight for them. To each their own when the war comes. When the war came. When the waters rained and ran. Then the winds slammed their structures to the land.

And look at me. In my cubicle land, with my clicking hand. Trying to be a loving man. Raising my family the best I can. And I hear of this war torn land. Damn. And I have to tune it out. Try to focus on my fam.

I want to help. I want to get up. Stand. And motivate. And march. Grab my rifle. Find the enemy at hand. Fight the injustice, war, hunger of our land.I want to pull militia rights and fight but don't know what direction to smite.

So I sit here again. In my cubicle land. Clicking with my clicking hand. Wanting peace on this land. Wanting to take a stand. But no knowing where or what direction to man. As I focus and click, and click again.

What's in a title?

My father was a real man. Not like me. When he walked into the room, if you were a real man you would size him up. Don't worry he would be sizing you up too. He fought in the Korean War at the age of seventeen. When I was seventeen I was listening to Pearl Jam, The Cure and trying to find my identity.

He didn't talk about what he had seen either, other than a small amount of information I was able to get out of him over time. He told me he was in the 1st Marine Division. Interested, I bought a book on the war and researched it while enlisted in the Army. After reading a bit about it, I understood why after seeing what he did, talking about it would not be a good thing. He had to have seen death. Thousands of deaths.

To make it back in one piece was a victory of its own. And what he had seen would be far better off never spoken about. One of the bloodiest battles he served in was the battle of the Chosin Reservoir. It was so cold during this push toward the Chinese border that winter that frost bite was rampant. Temperatures were reported of thirty below. Also, if you were at this battle and survived you got the nickname the frozen chosen.

This was one of the battles he faced and lived to not talk about. It was a miracle that he made it back in one piece at all. It was a miracle that he could return to have our family. To have me. To live another fifty years. To coach basketball to hundreds of children as a Recreational Director of youth ministries. And to truly make a difference in hundreds of their lives. Coach Mickey will be remembered. Shit. They even named a park after him.

So on this father's day, I think of my father. Not of myself as a father. My journey has just begun. This is my first father's day. I haven't really earned the title yet. Hopefully one day I will.