But here's the funny thing about the monster inside of us. We want as little to do with him as we do with those who believe that the monster doesn't exist. It's neither war nor the dream state that beckons us, but rather an understanding by others of what we have done, what we have experienced, and who we are.
Do I ever want to tell them anything? Will this war still be raging in some form or another in the future? I would like to tell them why dad volunteered to go fight, about how noble his intentions were, how romantic the notion of going to war was supposed to be. How when you get there it loses all of that. In combat, you might wonder why you volunteered in the first place.