This is the story of an individual, not yet a man, placed within the confines of duty, honor and doubt. It is a familiar tale reflecting the communal burden each older generation so frequently imposes on their children. Aging yet failed wisdom unable, perhaps unwilling to protect their young. A summation in understanding that decisions made within the boundaries of national interest have very real, often horrific, human consequences. As graying men sat in Washington DC in the 1950’s they mulled their self-important, all-knowing strategies of global priorities; ‘we know best for all.’ And thus, repeated within the fabric of history those most malleable and innocent were sent into the conflict of their time. Its name was Viet Nam.

No matter how certain the cause, it was to ultimately end as an ill-defined and vaporous disarray of ersatz priorities; within a decade its very substance had withered. And 55,000 Americans lay silent. But for one man, it was a journey filled with paradox. Of the love between a son and the mother he never knew. A son forcibly taken from her; now a man seeking forgiveness for actions taken within the obligations of honor and duty. It is the discovery of love for a woman who nearly destroyed him, and a final requital for the death of his mentor. It is a common journey for those of our children asked to shoulder their nation’s legacy bound in difficult if not appalling deeds. For them as for this man, it is a struggle along a path often shadowed in mendacious absolution offered by their nation, now fatigued if not bored by the legacy once sought. It is accepting the need to cleanse one’s soul before rebirth and a purposeful future can be achieved. What we ask of our children. And the redemption, the metanoia we owe, is an unending cycle within our collective experience. Let us not forget.