I flew to Killeen, Texas, this past Wednesday to visit my son, Frank Jr. He is a PFC with the Army's 4th Infantry Division, based at Fort Hood, Texas. Frank had called me earlier in the week to say his unit had finally received their deployment orders for Iraq. Since the 4th Infantry has originally been put on standby status in January, I knew it was just a matter of time before he would be heading out. He said he'd be leaving by the weekend. I booked a flight the next day so I could spend some more time with him before he went off to war, and so I could give him the fatherly speech I felt he deserved.

I picked him up at his barracks on base, and he came walking out in his uniform looking bigger, stronger and more confident than I'd ever seen him look before. He is all of 20 years old, and has been in the Army for only a year. We spent about five hours together, walking, talking, shopping, eating and laughing, talking about his friends back home, his sisters, his car, the movies, the weather, etc. The one thing we did not talk about was the war. We both knew what was going on in Iraq. We had seen the news footage, read the newspaper articles, heard the radio reports of fighting, and both knew of the danger that lies ahead for him and the thousands of other soldiers that are in the war zone. But we didn't talk about it.

As we talked about the fun things and laughed and smiled at each other, it seemed like we both were keeping the secret fear of the war to ourselves, almost like we were trying to protect each other. After dinner, I drove him back to his barracks and we both got out of the car. We made some small talk and I looked him in the eyes and said I wasn't going to tell him all the things he had already heard from everyone else, such as: keep your head down, be careful, stay safe, etc. I looked him in the eyes and told him I was proud of him and that I loved him. He smiled, gave me a hug and a kiss, said, "I'll see you when I get back," and walked off to his barracks - and off to war.

As I drove away, my eyes welled up with tears as I remembered the little boy who played Bobcats football in North Massapequa just 10 years earlier. I don't know exactly where Frank Jr. is today, but I pray he is safe. I didn't give him that fatherly talk on Wednesday; I realized I couldn't protect my child anymore. It's kind of ironic, isn't it? Now it's his turn to protect me.

Frank J. Stalzer