The day was beautiful. A crisp fall day, a perfect backdrop for the birthday I took my son, Jake to out on Clear Lake. About half way through the festivities the hostess of the party and I notice a young man--by young, I mean late twenties. His clothes were irregular and layered, his jean jacket too small, paint smattered around the bottom of old jogging pants and yet I recognized a familiar bearing to him. I often saw it in the same stance and carriage my husband and other members of my family had.

The hostess and I said nothing to one another, I was already walking back toward the table where the food was she came back to help make a plate for him. She said she had asked him if he was traveling and if he would like something to eat. She explained that his gaze shifted to the present and he smiled and said yes.

His hair was cut close to his head and as he walked, his eyes swept back and forth across the park as he met us to get his food. After he took it he started to turn to leave and then turned back again to my friend and asked her what her name was. She replied that it was Elizabeth and he extended his hand to her and said, "Thank you, Elizabeth. My name is Sterling."

After that he moved onto a nearby gazebo where he put down his rucksack and sat and ate looking up from his food to glance right, left and behind from time to time. I sat down to keep him company while he ate, but only smiled and said nothing. I knew I didn't look it, but I was overwhelmed by the dichotomy. He was hardened and yet vulnerable. Watchful, but looking for harbor, for rest.

In a little while he returned to thank Elizabeth again and motioned towards a chair asking to sit down. His conversation was stilted like you sometimes see on the news when someone is on the other end of a satellite feed only it was obvious it was't technology that was slowing him down--that it was his own mind doing it. sometimes he just sat and opened a worn book with pictures it looked like he had drawn and had conversations with others only he could see. On his forearm you could see part of a military unit tatto.

When I got home I told my husband about it and he looked up from the stove and said, "Well? Where is he? Out in the car?

Would that I could.

I am angry that this vet was in a park and that somehow he has fallen through the cracks. I am sad that we can't get our crap together better than we are as a nation. There has got to be something we can do about this. Pretty soon ,when this war is over, there will be more of these young men in parks in real time, but still on patrol in their minds.

We have to do better than this.