My six year old grandson Sean (on the far right) and his friends. He loves running around, being silly, enacting scenes from Star Wars, learning to read, eating ice cream, singing, learning to play the piano, hitting a baseball, and checking the weather every morning on a computer his mother just put in his room. He especially loves being with his friends. And they love being with him. The little boy in the yellow sweatshirt who is an only child often asks Sean "What if we were brothers?" Whenever I see the name of another soldier or Marine who has died in Iraq, especially one who is only 18 or 19 or 20, I think of them as once being six, like Sean. I think of the times they must have played with friends the way Sean does. I think of them laughing and running and learning to play soccer. I think of them innocent and pure, carefree and joyous. And then I think of how we have failed them, and denied them a long life on this planet, all because we can't figure out how to live in peace with each other.
