My Dad

My dad, as I've mentioned in class, is a Vietnam Veteran. He was a disabled American Veteran by the time he was 22 years old. Despite my being so close to that age, I know he was much more mature than I am at this point. War changes you, as he said, and you don't look at a lot of the things the same way you used to. He didn't really elaborate, as he isn't one to revel in the past, but I knew it meant he had seen things and done things that he'll always remember. He couldn't come home the same exact man he once was, because he was still more or less a boy when he left. I always try to figure out the defining moment when I've grown up. Truth be told, I'm not sure I've even experienced it yet. Going to war, however, is one of those things where maturity gained is undeniable. The stakes are too high, too many lives are lost, for anyone to come back the exact same person they were when they entered. I have such a respect for my father, because he doesn't resent his time in the Army, his injury, or anything else. He has always chalked it up to his duty for his country. I am so proud to call this man my father. He exemplifies bravery to me, and is the toughest guy I know.