Something I’ve been asking myself recently is: How do you capture a moment?

Picture this—you’re a truck driver. You’ve got a destination in mind, and a time hack to make; but you find yourself too focused on the road ahead and the time you’ve lost to stop and admire the deer wandering through the meadow on your left. If only you’d known it was there, you would have looked. Instead, you’re left watching it fade away in the rear-view mirror, your foot still on the accelerator.

It’s hard to know you’re living in a moment until it’s gone. But every now and again, you get lucky. For me, it took the soft glow of a dock-side campfire and the company of friends on a warm summer’s night to realize that I was once again driving down that oft-traveled road. As soon as I did though, I hit the brakes and I looked to my left.

Sure enough, there stood the deer—erect, proud, and resolute. I slowly exited my truck, careful not to disturb it, and stepped a few feet forward. The beautiful creature turned its head and looked at me; curious, but unafraid. So, I took a few more steps before finding a small mound to sit on and rest my back against. Then, I watched as the deer trotted towards the wood line where two fawns were emerging from the shadows. They seamlessly fell in line with their mother and the three deer pranced through the meadow as the sun set behind them—casting long shadows in my direction. And then, just like that, they were gone. And a second later, the sun was too. It was over. The moment had passed. Once again, it was just me and my truck heading who knows where.

I wish I could have watched the deer forever. Their grace and beauty gave me reason to pause and my heart time to feel. But my truck and its cargo, still had to get where it needed to go. So, I couldn’t have sat on that mound forever. Maybe moments were never meant to be captured. Maybe they’re fleeting on purpose. Maybe you don’t agree with me at all. Or maybe, you’ll find something even better when you decide to look out your window another mile down the road.

I’m glad we hit the brakes. Now it’s time to drive a little further.

My friends and I ruled the neighborhood. Really, we did. Johnny, Pat, Joey, and I were as tough as they come. What’s more though, we were practically inseparable. We played sports, ate our meals, did our chores, and traveled together literally every day. Friends for life you could have called us. Anyways, like I said before: we ruled the neighborhood. Why, you ask? Because we were known for having never lost a game of tag. No joke, we had never lost. And in the entirely serious and well-established tag-culture of our county, that was a pretty big deal. Every week without fail, the boys from Cross Creek and Lover’s Landing would mosey on over to our neighborhood, and every week without fail we’d send ‘em packin’. But on this particular day, we were on the offensive and we were hunting big game. Our scouts had warned us about a new squad of boys in town that was really quite good. Obviously, we weren’t all that worried (being undefeated and all). But their slowly growing record of wins spoke for itself. They meant business. So, after talking it over as a team, we decided that we couldn’t sit idly by and wait for the inevitable. We had to bring the game to them.

On that fateful Saturday morning Johnny, Pat, Joey, and I crawled out of bed and rendezvoused at the dirt clearing where the neighborhood stopped, and the forest began. We were ready for battle: face paint under our eyes, tightly tied sneakers, and some band aids just in case things got rough. The plan was to pass through the woods that separated our neighborhood from the competition’s and conduct a surprise attack. We’d beat them on their own turf. That would show em’ who the real champions were. Humbled though by the magnitude of our undertaking, we took a brief moment standing at the forest’s edge to acknowledge the task ahead of us. There were no words spoken as we silently reaffirmed our trust in one another. Then, we stepped into the woods, prepared to face our greatest foe yet.

We had moved no more than 20 paces forward when Johnny’s hand shot up—signaling for us to freeze. We threw ourselves to the ground and began scanning the forest for signs of movement. I don’t see anything. I thought to myself. The trees were swaying gently in the morning breeze and the smell of pine filled my nostrils…but something was wrong. Suddenly, four boys materialized, seemingly out of thin air. We jumped to our feet. Right away, I knew that these boys were not like any we’d faced before; they were bigger, stronger, and faster looking than any I’d ever seen. But before I could open my mouth to address the game that was about to unfold, they leapt forward. Game on, I thought. My squad and I immediately scattered in different directions, determined to confuse our competition. But they were smart, each picking one of us to chase after. Within seconds there were four separate pursuits underway. I made a hard right and took off sprinting full speed through the forest; dodging trees, jumping over logs, and sliding down berms in a desperate attempt to evade my pursuer. But he remained hot on my tail—and he was gaining speed. I knew I had to do something drastic or else the game would be over before it even started. Then I saw it: up ahead there was a drop off. Knowing that it was my only chance, I made a leap of faith and ran full speed off the cliff, into whatever lay below. My pursuer did not follow.

After a few seconds of free-fall, I landed in a stream so deep that I was fully submerged. After resurfacing, I quickly scrambled up the stream bank and pulled myself out. Aside from being completely soaked, I was unharmed. It was a miracle. Not to mention, I had successfully evaded my pursuer. Our roles were now reversed.

I took a brief moment to collect myself before clambering back up the side of the cliff I had jumped off of. When I reached the top, I got down on one knee and surveyed the scene. My pursuer was pacing up and down by the cliff’s edge looking for where I might have gone. Further back though, I could see three other boys standing around a group of huddled masses. Then it hit me. My teammates had all been tagged. I was the only one left. A brief wave of horror washed over me before I realized that I had to act. Then that fear hardened into some sort of unbreakable determination. I was ready. This was my moment. I took off running towards my pursu—

“Hey you two! Dinner’s ready!” Charlotte yelled from the kitchen.

“Mom!” Jack whined in reply, “Grandpa was just getting to the good part of his story!”

“Come on honey, and you too dad! Dinner is ready. I know you don’t want to let it get cold” Charlotte yelled back. I could tell by the look on his face that Jack was about to retort with another witty reply, so I stopped him:

“Jack, it’s alright. I’ll finish the story before dinner next week”

Jack looked at me, thought for a moment, and then grumbled: “Yea okay, I guess so.” He was upset. I knew that. But he’d have plenty more Sunday evenings to listen to his grandfather reminisce. After all, I loved sharing my old stories with him, even if they didn’t happen exactly as I told them.

Dinner that evening was delicious. But afterwards I knew I had to head out. Charlotte wanted Jack to finish his sixth-grade science project before Tuesday and, well, he had a bad habit of procrastinating. She is a great mother, I thought to myself. I’d like to think I had some part in that.

After she set Jack up at the kitchen table to start working, Charlotte walked me to the door. We hugged and said goodbye, but as I turned to leave she reached out and touched my shoulder.

“Yanno, Jack does love hearing your stories” she said, “and I appreciate the lessons you’re trying to teach him, but, Dad…the war is over.”

She smiled at me when she said this.

“I know sweetheart” I replied, “I’ll see you next week.”

I arrived home about thirty minutes later, took off my suit jacket, and prepared for bed. Just before turning out the lights though, I stole a glance at the Silver Star subtly displayed atop my dresser. Jack would not understand for some time what that “game of tag” really meant to me. But I was okay with that. He would know someday. All in good time, I thought to myself, before drifting off to sleep.

Its heavy. Its crushing. Its festering inside me

like a virus in my gut.

I guess I never knew how full a cup could be.

Will it spill? Will I break? Or is this just a rut?

“Be strong. Suck it up.

I don’t have time for petty shit.

Pick up your ruck. Fill up that cup.

You’d better not fucking quit.”

“Just shove it all deep down inside—

you know it’s the only way.

Stand up, show some pride,

you’ll deal with this a later day.”

I want to feel, I really do.

I promise this is true.

I just don’t have the strength right now to

change my damn world view.

So instead I think I’ll stop and pray

to He who lights my way:

“O God, why can’t you please

just take my pain away?”