I talked to Trey today. He's been in Afghanistan for a little over two months now. That doesn't sound like that long, but it seems like at least a half a year. I live in this great state called Denial. In my mind, when I picture him over there, he's always safe, smiling, it's always sunny, and he's never afraid. Generally, he's handing pieces of candy to small children. A sweet picture. Denial is like that. It exudes a shimmering shadow of peace, and I've settled in and made myself quite at home - but sometimes I venture out-of-state. I asked him today if he's seen any gunfire over there, and I caught him off guard by asking such a blunt, direct question, and he stammered, and I knew that, yes, he had...though he said, "Not directly." Whatever...indirectly...what the hell does that mean? If it had been directly, he'd be dead. And then I realize...he's not playing war, he's in a war-zone...my son...my baby boy, at war...oh well...I'm going home now...to the Great State of Denial.