The Hat
Summary: There is a kind of man you meet more often as you get older. He served briefly — six months, a year — and couldn’t wait for it to end. Now it’s the most important thing in his life. The career is gone. The titles expired. But “veteran” never does. It earns respect, ends arguments, and provides belonging without confession. Time edits memory. The anxiety and resentment disappear. What remains is purpose. The United States built no civilian equivalent — then wondered why old men kept returning to the one door that still opened. And the men who saw combat? They don’t talk about it. That silence may be the most honest thing war leaves behind.
There is a kind of man you meet more often as you get older.
He served in the military when he was young—six months, a year, maybe two. Sometimes Vietnam, but not combat. Engineers. Logistics. A ship. A base. He could not wait for it to be over.
Now it is the most important thing in his life.
