He had stood in my apartment doorway and said,
“What if I don’t make it?”
I told him,
“Then you find out who you are after failing.”
He frowned.
“That’s terrible encouragement.”
“No. It’s the only kind that matters.”
He made it.
And when the applause came, I clapped louder than anyone.
Ryan looked toward our parents.
Then his eyes moved.
Found me.
I nodded once.
Proud.
For the briefest moment his expression cracked.
He looked almost like that seven-year-old boy again.
Then he faced forward.
When the ceremony ended, people rose everywhere.
Families rushed toward their SEALs.
Phones came out.
Pictures.
Hugs.
Laughter.
Officers immediately surrounded Nathan.
I stayed near the stage because several people came over to talk with me.
Some I knew.
Some I didn’t.
A senior chief walked up and shook my hand.
“Captain.”
“Chief.”
“Heard you were back stateside.”
“Temporarily.”
“Good to see you.”
“You too.”
He glanced toward Ryan.
“That your brother?”
“Yes.”
A grin spread across his face.
