HE SAID War is not a game. He said. I remember the day like it was yesterday. The sights, the sounds, the smells. They are all burned in my memory. Deeply etched on my soul by the skillful hand Of my grandfather. The day was bright and friendly. We were outside. Carefree. Careless. Pretending to fight. Pretending to die. I remember his strong hand gripping my shoulder. Steering me into the house He sat me on a chair and knelt before me. The only time I ever saw anger in his eyes. War is not a game. He said. People die. And then he wept. Wept for those left behind. Wept for families shattered. Wept for friends whose lifeblood fed the soil. Wept for both sides who lost so much. I was dumbfounded. Never had I seen him cry. This man. This rock. My grandfather. Never had he spoken of those days. But today, as he knelt at the feet of an eight year old boy. Genuflecting before the future. The dam burst and the words poured out in waves. And I wept with him. In many ways I still do. The world does not need more soldiers willing to die for peace. He said. The world needs people who are willing to live for it. Every day In every moment. Honor the dead this way. War is not a game. He said. I will always remember that day And the words He said.