Okay, so this one is kinda personal.  Today my younger son took an oath to protect and defend the constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic.  He has officially joined Uncle Sam's Canoe Club, otherwise known as the United States Navy.  Those who are closest to me know (and by now I am sure are sick of hearing), that I have been weepy for the last two weeks over this.   As I sat in the waiting room for the swearing in ceremony, I was struck by an odd feeling.  It has been 12 years since I last lay in a maternity ward awaiting a new life to enter the world, so I am a bit rusty.  But that is what this felt like.  You see the MEPS center (which stands for military something and processing, I think) has a "hospital-like" smell to it.  You know, like antisceptic and something undefined.  There is no other smell like it.  And there was a TV in the room, although I could not really tell you what was being shown on it, something on the history channel, I think.  I sat there watching, but not really watching.  I was waiting.  Waiting for the ceremony to be announced.  I knew roughly when it would happen, but not exactly.  Kind of like the birthing process as well.   The officer who did the swearing (pun intended), was very gentle and kind and very much put the swearees and the parents at ease.  He joked with them before the swearing in, and let them know when it was time to be serious.  They were a mixed group, mostly Marines, some Navy, no Airforce.  I wondered watching them, if any of them would end up as casualties in the current conflicts, or some conflict yet declaired, and said a silent prayer that they would all come back in one peice, especially mine.   Then after the swearing in was done and the signing in was finished, I hugged my son one more time for good measure.  He not only let me this time, he actually hugged back.  And I said goodbye to my little boy, The little boy who was born so quietly watching the world go past.  The one who left rocks and clay and sometimes even bugs in his pocket when the pants went into the wash.  The little boy with the skinned knees and the busted mouth that required a rush to the emergency room for oral and plastic surgery.  The one who ended up in the hospital with the Roto virus when he was four, hooked up to tubes and wires.  The boy who perfected the art of cursing without using curse words but using "Drat".  My little boy is gone.  And in his place is a man who was adult enough to make an oath to protect and defend this country and every man, woman and child in it, and mean that oath with all his heart.  I think he will be a good man, and I can't wait to get to know him better.