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The teacher asked her students to bring in a picture of a family or friend who served in the military —  a simple and somewhat common activity where families dig through albums and children bring in pictures of their father, uncle, mother, grandfather, cousin or neighbor serving our country.

I look at their faces, some weathered with time, others incredibly young. Men who resemble World War II movies posed in front of picturesque backgrounds, their battle already won. Current soldiers in front of plywood walls and equipment unsure of the outcome, their stories still unfolding.

My own brother-in-law’s picture, in the middle of the board, surrounded by other men in a mosaic of service, dedication, dignity and pride.

Then one picture catches my eye. It is dark and bigger than the others. As I peer, it becomes clear the picture is of a computer and on the screen sits a soldier, young and bright-eyed. In the corner of his screen is a 2-by-2-inch square that holds a picture of a young woman in a hospital gown, holding a baby.

Through my tears I read the second-grade caption: “this is my cuzin  in Afganstan seeing his litle grl for the frst time”

Ashton Clemmons
Greensboro