I watched you walk into the store with your father, your excited gait contrasted so harshly against his pin straight march as you ran right up to me. You clutched me in your arms and turned excitedly towards him, a universe of imagination in your eyes.

"I want this one, Daddy!" You yelled, showing me to the tall man standing behind you. You were too young to see the pain behind his smile when he pulled his lips thin.

"Why do you want that one, champ?" He asked, taking a knee to lower himself into your world.

"Because you're going away! But this way you can stay with me, too!" You said. Another smile vaguely masking a deep wound.

"Alright, buddy. Let's get this one." Your father said, taking me gingerly in his arms and herding you over to the counter. You didn't look at a single other toy on the way, your mind was made up.

Your father left the next day. His pressed and ironed uniform and closely shaved head transformed him into a different person. To you, he was the coolest dad in the world. You wrote letters every day, though your mother told you he may not get them for a long time. You drew pictures, played games, he never left your thoughts.

How many battles did we fight together? How many times did we pretend. I was your father, resolute and strong. You were the general guiding me from battlefield to battlefield. I was the soldier, never dying. Never getting hurt. Always making it home ok. If only that was closer to reality.

It was a bright and sunny day when they delivered the flag to your mother. I remember hearing her wail as she opened the door. You ran downstairs with me in your arms to see her clutching her chest on the floor.

"What's wrong?" You asked. She couldn't answer. The men with her excused themselves and stepped inside. They looked just like dad, didn't they.

One of them took a knee in front of you and placed a firm, calloused hand on your shoulder. His eyes were fierce, but absent. He did not force a smile. "I'm sorry, son. Your father was an amazing soldier. He fought with bravery and courage, but he did not make it home. He paid the ultimate price to keep his friends safe."

This time it was your turn to wail. I slid from your arms and landed on the floor with a gentle thud. The first time I'd ever fallen in battle.

The next week all that could be heard from your home were the cries of you and your mother. The consolations and tears of friends and families swarming to pay their respects as you were left to pick up the pieces.

Can you hear them out there, old soldier? Can you feel just how much you were loved? I hope that knowledge brought you peace in the end.

After the funeral you put me away. The look in your eyes told me that it was too painful to look at me. I understand. You've been through a lot, but thank you for the journey. Maybe one day I will see you again.

You didn't visit me for years. A decade even. When you did, my heart sank. You pulled me from that musty box at the back of your closet and rested me back on the shelf over your bed. Your head was cleaned of that raggedy tangle of dirty blonde hair and in its place was that iconic high and tight. Your t-shirt was replaced with a sharp uniform that I never got to see you grow into. You gave me a brilliant smile and raised your hand to your head. It was rough, but it was the best salute this old soldier had ever seen.

Months passed and you came back one more time. You'd lost weight and gained muscle. Your spine was straight and your eyes were fierce. It was like looking into a mirror. This time, when you saluted it filled me with pride. I'm sure it would fill him with pride too. Fight well, toy soldier.

The sky is overcast. It looks like it may burst into tears at any moment. My back feels cold. I can't feel the heat of your hands anymore, now all I can feel is the rough fabric of a flag draped over your new home.

In the end, you were just like your father after all.

A shovelful of dirt landed on my body and for me too, the world went dark.