Make Peace not War. OK but how about make peace and war. Stand for something or fall for something.
Father and Son reunion?
Stand up boy, face your fears.
The author was beaten bad and limped home to his father who was a doctor. The father dressed the wounds in a most painful but healthy way. The boy being 6 years old cried and cried. The father held his tongue. But he had a look of disdain and the boy felt it and felt ashamed.
But the father before the boy went to bed, hugged him and told him, "some lessons are harder than others and take time to understand".
The boy went to sleep feeling the shame but knowing he was loved and cared for and secure.
That Saturday the father stayed home from work.
Mama took the other 5 siblings out from around the house.
The father took the boy by the hand and set him with a cup of coffee. He told the boy to sip careful as it was hot and an adult drink. Then the father took an old book and through the dusty thing down on the table in front of the boy.
The fathers healing hands had always been an amazement to the boy. So strong and powerful yet tender enough to stitch a wound with in a babies head. These hands were always clean and soft and calming just by the touch.
The "album" he tossed down had newspaper clipping and weird black and white photos of dad in shorts. The father flipped some pages. And the boy's father was standing over a dark colored man with Sugar on his shorts band. Blood was everywhere. What look like fireflies were everywhere.
So the daddy put the boy on his knee and explained that in order to get through medical school and pay for Yale the father had boxed for a living. The purses paid his bills and tuition.
The boy looked again at the hands and for the first time saw the scars. And he wept at his poor father's pain.
Mama Loved both the boy and the Father
So the father explained about paying his way fighting.
He explained about WWII and he explained about being a top notch boxer.
Then he set the boy down. And he explained. "boy you never ever throw the first punch. But until you cannot, you always throw the last" "There is a place in sport and a place in defending those weaker where you fight" "but a man who fights for himself, is not fighting for anything".
The boy grew to be an Apache fighter. That means he always fights to win but never for himself.
The boy learned that day a few lessons.
Use your face as a fist. Use your wits as your comrade. Never strike in anger and always love who you fight against.
So we make war and we make peace and we realize that might is not always right. But more: We learn not to lose. We learn that if our cause is not just we lose before we begin.
The Father and Mother have died. The boy now has sons of his own. And the boy still loves the fight. But only if it sets well with the rules his pappy gave him. This is America