[MontanaKid]

I guess this is my Memorial Day reflection. Perhaps also looking back to Mother's Day.

The gal I'm seeing called me last night, full of worry for her 18-year-old son. You all know the drill, fast cars, devil may care driving, the drive so many of us have at that age to do dangerous things. He'd had his second accident this spring while tailing too close. No serious injury, thank God.

I made me think of the shock and fear my mom had when, after graduating in 1968, there was I: A quiet, stay-at-home kid who had never even dated, I joined the Army at the peak of a nasty, controversial war. Not only that, I volunteered for a job specialty where I was highly likely to see combat.

I wrote a poem for my gal and my mother. For what it's worth, here it is:

Yong men, Mothers

White dream
Bold in the darkness of closed eyes
Baby boy, blue blanket
Red face, soft, peaceful
Sated contentment on engorged breast

Yellow dream
Bright in vernal promise
Skinned knee, bloody nose
Dirty hands must wash
Mother?s worry and patient instruction

Blue Dream
Soft, maternal comfort
Warm embrace, worried eyes
Spreading shoulders, breaking free

Red dream
Blazing in dangerous pride
Fast cars, foreign wars
Woman?s heart cries, ?Take care, my love.?