My father liked to joke that I was “a poor soldier.” He said it with a smirk, usually over coffee, usually loud enough for the rest of the family to hear. In his mind, real soldiers carried rifles into far-off wars. They didn’t wear flight suits, didn’t fly logistics missions, and definitely didn’t “take the bus to work.” I learned early to smile, let it slide, and keep my world neatly folded where his opinions couldn’t crease it……CONTINUE READING BELOW
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