To my neighbors, I am just Frank, a quiet retiree with a limp who spends his days tending to Peace roses and fighting aphids in a self-imposed peace. They see the flannel and gray hair, but they don’t see the decades I spent as a Marine Scout Sniper and CQB instructor—a machine of destruction that was simply set to idle. This tranquil rhythm was shattered on a cold Saturday morning by a phone call from my daughter, Sarah; her voice was a broken, fragile whisper that cut through the air before the line went dead….CONTINUE READING BELOW
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