Last weekend

I had a near-perfect Sunday afternoon.

There I was,

just after church and lunch, making the most of it as I lay sprawled on

the couch facing the television. My wife, who works far too hard during

the week, was enjoying a rare nap on the other couch, while our 3-year-old

son slept in his room.

Of course,

the plan was an uninterrupted three hours of football, but as has been

the tendency of late, world events intruded. Instead of switching between

two games, I was switching between one game and reports of bombs over

Afghanistan.

I lay in total

silence for some 90 minutes when the door directly across the room from

me creaked open. My son Samuel, wearing that all-too-familiar look filled

with sleep lines and slight disorientation, looked at me with a weak smile.

I grinned and motioned for him to come over.

Without a word,

he ran and crawled up on top of me, his 42 pounds stretching from my neck

to my shins. Within a minute, he was asleep again.

I listened

to the latest updates from the Middle East, thinking about how history

was being made before my eyes. Samuel didn't give the TV a second glance

why should he, since neither Barney, Thomas the Tank Engine, nor a single

"Veggie Tales" character graced the screen?

Oh, for a life

of such simplicity. Each day, Kelly and I contend with work, commuting,

bills, meals, cleaning and whatever else comes up, not for the two of

us but the three of us. Meanwhile, we see at 6 and 11 each night scenes

from a world that a local radio personality describes as being "on

a water slide to Hell" and wonder how to keep sanity and stability

in our family.

As for our

son, just have a cup of chocolate milk ready when he gets up in the morning

and you're off to a good start. It doesn't get much more complicated after

that a room full of toys to be deployed at any time, an occasional video,

a little time on the playground with friends each week, and regular visits

with grandparents.

What a life.

Now, compare it with a child living in the mountains outside Kabul, and

you see my point.

The problems

of everyday life do not concern Samuel. If he throws his ball under the

bed, no problem Daddy will get it. If he can't get his pants up straight

in the rest room, that's OK Momma will fix it.

And last Sunday,

as I watched what will inevitably lead to American lives being given in

defense of their nation, my son slept soundly on my chest, knowing only

that Daddy was there and everything was all right.

How ironic,

that he has no idea what is happening on the other side of the world,

yet he is precisely the reason why it is happening. May God bless the

grown-ups fighting for our country so that our children can remain children.

[Monroe Roark

can be reached at [email protected] .]