I resent my husband. And, if I told anyone, everyone would hate me for it. He hasn’t done anything anyone else would consider “wrong,” but I certainly do.
He enlisted himself in the US Army. He quit his job and decided that he had a calling, and that calling was to protect his country from terrorists. He said he was ready to give his life for his country.
This was 8 months ago.
To everyone reading this, I’m sure you think that I am crazy and that he is a very strong, courageous, and patriotic man. “He should be celebrated for his valiant decisions,” my mother-in-law said to me at his going away party as she wiped away the proud tears rolling down her face.
Now I want to let you know how it really is.
His calling wasn’t to protect his country, a very noble thing indeed. His calling was his fear of being a father.
I am sitting here alone with my one-month-old son, who I refused to name after the coward he has for a father. That’s what my husband wanted, but I named him after my father instead. My father was a real man.
If my husband makes it back from Iraq alive, I’m sure everyone in town will cheer him on as a local hero. And I will act like I agree with that sentiment. But I know that he is no hero. After all, what kind of hero walks out on his own kid?
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