During discussions of current U.S. military efforts in Iraq, there's a fair amount of "we"ing going on, enough so that a visitor from another planet would naturally conclude that the peace in that country, such as it is, is being kept mainly by middle-aged, male media commentators rather than the professional military.

One of the newest actual members of America's fighting forces, my nephew K, arrived home from the Navy's recruit training center on Wednesday. He was just a few days late to celebrate his 19th birthday (he's now only 2 years too young to drink legally in our state). He's enjoying two weeks of leave before he reports to the warship to which he's been assigned. He was met by his tired father at the airport very late at night, after a series of flight delays caused by a snowstorm. The next morning, K slept in, even though his body clock must still have been set to an earlier time zone. When he finally arose on his first post-boot camp morning at home, he reverted instantly to his normal routines, according to his mother, J. First, he shuffled out to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal. A little later, he was observed in his pajamas, eating his cereal and watching the History Channel--a standard pre-boot camp morning routine.

The one break from pre-existing habits is that--because the contents of his sea bag are strewn across his own bed--he is currently bunking with his younger brother, O. During a field trip to Yellowstone last year, O learned about wolves and grizzlies and was introduced to the concept of the alpha male. He decided that he would like to be one, at least in his own bedroom. So he has made K take the top bunk. Part of his reasoning, he explained to J, is that he's helping K adapt in advance to shipboard life. K is an indulgent and kindly big brother, so he is allowing himself to be helped without fussing or grumbling, according to J.

It seems absolutely astounding to me that K is now in the military. It was only the other day that I was giving him piggy-back rides, showing him how to cut out paper snowflakes, and, during his dinosaur phase, convincing him that he'd just missed seeing a stegasaurus in the woods behind his grandparents' barn. His eyes would grow wide, and he'd rush to the window, but suspicion would begin to set in: "Aunt Mary, you're telling a whopper!" he would eventually exclaim.

Now it's I who feels very much as though I'm being told some sort of whopper. How can it be that this boy is now in the military?