Battlefield Reckoning

After my 3-year term of service in the Army, I

came home all in one piece, and better off, I

I would add, than my comrades in arms who

had been deployed to Vietnam at the time.

I asked my brother, who had remained at

home caring for our chronically ill mother:

By the way, what ever happened to my box

of toy soldiers, the ones with which I used

to play? I had quite the collection of plastic

fighting forces from the Revolutionary through

Civil War days. As a child I would pit the cavalry

against Indians, as the WWII G I s battled the

Germans. On rainy days, I would stay inside

and spend hours at play, jousting Richard the

Lionhearted’s knights against the armor-clad

forces of his evil brother, King John. I felt

empowered and often arranged history to suit

my fickle and fictitious needs at the time. Mom,

while on a housecleaning tear one day, ordered

me to get rid of them, my brother said, to throw

all our childhood toys away. You boys are young

men now, and need to act that way, she told him.

I had no choice but to behave, my brother con-

fessed apologetically. A seemingly insignificant act

such as this changed my world forever. All those

toy soldiers got thrown away never again to be

sent off to rainy-day wars of my making, never

again to be swept away from the floor at bedtime.

And, I had grown to realize that the realities of

war torn battles as an adult are far more harsh

and deadly to face. Mothers have a better sense

about them then do boys and grown men, I’d

have to say. Mostly, they can see the absolute

futility of all wars, real or imagined.

Chris Hanch 5-19-19