I have two sons, both of them fine young men in their late teens. I have many reasons to be proud of them both. They are warriors at heart with strong minds, bodies, and spirits. The blood of their heritage burns brightly in them both. They have excellent minds with scholarship opportunities and grade point averages to prove it. All these things in common, yet, they could not be more different one from the other.

Both of them strong willed with a determination to prove the truth as they know it, but with vastly different ways of expressing it between them. While the younger has always considered the “sage advice” of his wise old father when life requires reflection, his older brother pretty much considers the old man’s words to be universally outdated and irrelevant to this “new world” in which we find ourselves.

Yet, despite all these variances in approach, they are both so much like me in so many ways that it amazes (and frightens) their mother on a frequent basis. I have always considered my children to be unique spirits (in the words of Kahlil Gibran, “Your children come through you, not from you.”), and I have never desired making them over in my own image.  That’s a good thing too, because these two young bucks have had their very own – very strong – personalities since their first breath! I know. I was there.

These images of their childhood come flooding in at me this dawn as I adjust to the new reality that our family has begun with a startling suddenness. Last night, about Midnight, the elder son packed a backpack and left into the night without a word…