Remembering Freedom’s Father

 By Jim Berlin 

Freedom has a father. And freedom has a child. A youngster fair of face and free of spirit who rushes out to play at the first patch of blue in a stormy sky. He is a wonder to watch for he rations no part of himself as he plays. It is a world without limits where history is only yesterday and today is surely forever.

He plays hard and without fear, for who would ever harm one so fair of face
and free of spirit?

And he played on the morning of September 11, for that day began with far
more promise than a modest patch of blue. It was a day when the skies sparkled
from horizon to horizon, as far as the child could see.

Then, as we watched, he disappeared in smoke and fire and we feared for
the life of one so young amidst so much trouble.

But freedom has a father, too. And when the flames subsided and the smoke
parted, we saw him stride from the carnage with his face set in granite and the
child clinging to his back.

The youngster has almost forgotten the

worst of that day. He is anxious to play
again and searches the sky each morning for a patch of blue. And he will find it.

He always does.

But the father was last seen marching back into the smoke and fire. A helmet on
his head, his rifle at port arms. He will do what he has to do for freedom and the

He always does.

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