That’s what my dad would always call me, that’s my name after all. My mom died when I was born so my dad and his parents raised me. My dad, who was only seventeen on my birthday, made sure that I lived the best life that I could. We were almost always outdoors. Hiking trails and exploring the less traveled trails. It may have been because we were poor, but I didn’t mind. While other kids would complain about scratches and scrapes on their iPhones, I would complain when the bounds of recess were too small.

As the years went on, my dad and I grew together. We always remained close even after his parents died in a car accident. That was a hard time. I think my dad was at his happiest though when I graduated high school. He beamed with pride for me. It was like he had been running a race that he had finally won.

There wasn’t much for me to do in our small town and I had always wanted to explore and see the world. There was an army recruiter available at my graduation. I took him up on his offer and joined the army. My dad pulled a fast on me and joined too.  The recruiter looked skeptical at him but sent us both to the entrance point for medical tests and psych evaluations. We both passed with flying colors. Dad more so than me. He called it wisdom, I called it luck.

So we rented our home to some folks and left for basic training. It was grueling but I never did hear my old man complain. There was a sort of competition between him and the rest of us youngins to see who would break first

The youngins with no experience or the old man out running even the drill sergeants. 

My dad never lost his edge, he proved that he was as tough as any boomer and stronger than any war fighter. He was my dad and I was right next to him out running the sergeants. Dad was proud not only of me, but of himself at basic graduation. 

We were both Infantry and went to the same school. We shined bright. I got offered Ranger school, my dad was too old. That is where we parted ways. 

For all my life my dad was there to help, and this was a first for me. Being without him to rely on. I had my teammates and I was treated like another grunt. There were few that I could compete with as fiercely as my dad. Those that had been with me since basic  They knew that they couldn’t match my dad’s competitive spirit. After Ranger school came my first deployment to Afghanistan. I didn’t know who I would meet or where I might go. 

I was ready for anything… Or so I thought.

My team got placed to an infantry attachment and we were ordered to do a house to house sweep of insurgents. The second house we were greeted by a fully armed group of insurgents. The RPG that blew my sargeant away was the start of a firefight that lasted three hours. Bullets went flying, communications were temporarily lost, smoke and flames obscured vision, shouts and yells, a dust storm kicked up. The first few seconds were confusing as anything, but events like this are why we were trained so rigorously. Toward the end of the fight with six wounded and three dead,  My fireteam were rounding up the last few people in the village. We thought that we were getting the women and children together, when a man popped up from cover and shot at us. Bullets ripped through a brother-in-arms and down he went. The insurgent followed quickly behind him as three other soldiers responded quickly to the situation and they fired before the man had time to acquire another target.

I was the closest to the fallen brother. I knelt down beside him as my lieutenant gave the all clear. The man was pierced twice in the chest and a third time in the leg. I reached down and held his hand.

“Hey Kidd.”

Those were not the words that I wanted to hear at that point in time. Or ever really in that sort of situation. My dad was the shot soldier. His grip was firm and resolute. I looked up to his pale face. He was smiling with blood stained lips and teeth. I could see the love in his eyes. He probably had more to say, but he died right then and there. The three soldiers that had shot the man kneeled down beside me. These were my brothers, not only in the military sense, but in the family sense as well. These were soldiers taken under the wing of my dad. He had watched out for them and been with them during his tour. Each one picked up my dad with a sort of reverence and carried him off on a stretcher.

I continued to sit there, dumbstruck and with my father’s blood on my hands. Hey Kidd, those words are what he uttered every time he saw me. At every game in youth, at every point in my life that meant something to me, boot camp and AIT, Hey Kidd. 

He meant “I’m proud of you.” 

And now, and now, I cannot return the sentiment. He was my father, my brother, and my hero.