I shook with anger and embarrassment. Balling my fists, I clenched them tight biting back a retort that I knew would earn me an extra round of mucking out the pig pen. I fought back the waves of anger and frustration that were boiling over in my chest. It was ever so unhelpful that my father had chosen to have this conversation at the dinner table with my three older brothers present. My oldest brother, Jade, sat with dumbfounded disbelief etched all over his face, unable to look away from my father.

“You did what!?” He exclaimed! His agitation only further setting me on edge.

My father would not be baited into responding but continued to silently watch me from my position to his left at the table.

My second oldest brother, Revel, sat snickering, fighting back waves of boisterous laughter that threatened to explode. But he, like the rest of us, knew that such a reaction would result in our father’s rebuke as well. We knew he was deadly serious and had not intended his statement as a joke. Responding as if it were a joke would most certainly be met with swift rebuke, the likes of which none of us would want to see. We could all see his struggle to restrain his laughter, even father. But, for whatever reason, father was choosing to overlook it in favor of continuing to stare at me.

My third brother, Aldus, the one closest to me in age, sat across from me and to father’s right. His response was less controlled. He always was the one lacking most self-control. I honestly was surprised that the past two years of his military service had not cured him of that yet. Of course, he was always a harder case then my two oldest brothers who had been quickly whipped into shape by their service in the king’s army. Jade and Revel were born for military service. Aldus, well, he almost didn’t make it in; a fact that would have brought great shame to my father, though father would never have vocalized anything of the sort. Father was an honorable man. Gentle and quiet but firm and resolute in his convictions. He was never quick to anger and always had an expression that he was contemplating something deep. Though few in words, when he did speak, it was always rich with purpose and depth. For Aldus to fail at joining the king’s army like his two older brothers would have been a blow to my father. His character and personality would not have permitted him to express it, but it would have been a blow to him.

To this day, I am convinced that the only reason Aldus got into the king’s army is upon the reputation of my father and brothers with the people of influence over those decisions. Aldus’ impetuous and impulsive behavior did not lend itself well to the discipline and structure of a soldier who could be trusted to comply with orders, especially when they demanded unhesitating compliance and submission. Aldus had a rough go of it for sure. From Jade and Revel’s accounts, he spent nearly his first six months on latrine duty for not controlling his tongue. Apparently, he learned the secret after six long months of scooping and hauling refuse for an army of several hundred strong. He never landed that job again. And to be sure, his tongue and control was a far cry better than it once had been.

However, on this occasion, he had a momentary lapse. Either he felt freer while at home on leave, being away from the structure of the army OR the strength of my father’s statement was strong enough to override even the greatest restraint he had worked years to gain. He blurted out his response, clearly, before considering his words.
In a tone of derision and incredulous, “Ah! Father, how could you? Do you not know…”

He never finished that statement.

Swift as the strike of a snake’s head, father’s hand flew around and placed a firmly placed slap to the side of his face. There was no anger or malice in it. Just a firm rebuke. The statement, though incomplete, was out of line and needed correcting. Aldus’ tone was enough to reveal his opinion and reveal his intended statement. The look of shock on Aldus’ face was enough to silence even Revel’s snickering, and close Jade’s mouth. My father was not quick to strike in such a fashion. In fact, I had never seen him do so before. His quick response and the deep respect each of my brothers held for my father sobered them instantly. Silence descended. They all seemed to be waiting for my response. I felt, more than saw, their eyes turn upon me. I had refused to look at my father, or at my brothers. I didn’t trust myself not to burst into tears or an angry outburst that might earn me a swift strike such as Aldus just received. I refused to look away from the table. I balling and un-balled my hands under table, out of sight from my father. The silence stretched on.

I still did not trust myself to speak. I was angry. I enjoyed my quiet farming life. I never aspired to something else. I thought father and I had a good thing going here, running the farm together. I could not understand why he would do this. Why would he enlist me in the king’s army? As the banner bearer of all things? Even my brothers, soldiers themselves, knew that position was a joke. Reserved for the rich and entitled, for men unable or unwilling to fight. The banner bearer wasn’t even given a weapon. No, in my brother’s eyes and from all I had heard, it was not a respected position. It felt like an insult. This is all my father felt I was capable of? Worthy of? Not that I wanted to be a soldier, like my brothers, for I did not. The very thought of a soldier’s life turned my stomach.

But this….this seemed worse. My brother’s reactions only solidified the conviction that the life of a banner bearer was disgraceful and abhorrent, though they were silent about the specifics. Even if I desired such a life, this position would not even afford me the status of a soldier’s life or all that respect and honor that came with a soldier’s life. A soldier was afforded respect, honor, and even prestige for his service. In life or in death, a soldier was granted the respect of all for their sacrifice and willingness to place themselves in harm’s way for the defense and protection of the nation, of others. The sight of a soldier, or a detachment of soldiers, was met with hope, confidence, and relief. It meant deliverance and protection, safety, and refuge. I enjoyed my quiet life and did not aspire to the praise or glory of military exploits. My brothers, they could not wait for the day when they could enlist and pursue the glory of this life. But me, I never wanted it. And now, for it to be thrust upon me in such a way that would not even result in the accolades of a true solider…. well, it was the greatest offense my father could inflict upon me.

I could not understand what I had done to make my father angry, so much so that he would send me away to the army; to a position that was the lowest position within the king’s army. We had never had fights or disagreements. Yes, I was beyond the age of my brothers when they had first joined the king’s army, but we had never even discussed this. We had fallen into an easy and fluid daily pattern of running the farm. He was getting older and was not able to do as much as he once had. Though he had never said so, I thought he was happy I had not expressed interest in the military life. I thought he was content with my staying to help him with the farm and leaving the fighting to my brothers. I just could not understand. I bounced between anger and confusion.

The silence stretched for what felt like forever. The creeking of chairs as my brothers shifted position, growing uncomfortable in the stretching silence but not daring to break it, prompted me to look up for a fleeting moment. As I did, a single tear let loose from the dam behind my eyes that I had been fighting to hold back. As it slid slowly down my cheek, I opened my mouth to utter one single word.

“Why?”

As I let the word loose, the single tear drop followed the curve of my face and found the corner of my mouth. It settled there. I refused to lift my hand to wipe it away. Instead, my tongue instinctively rose to clear the unwelcome drop of liquid from my lip, the taste of salt lingering as I awaited my father’s answer.

His answer came softly and with deep emotion. “Do you trust me, son?” His voice cracked as if he himself were about to cry.

Holding his gaze, his eyes locked with mine. Tears welled and pooled in his own eyes.

He knows this hurts me. I thought. He knew it would, which is why he never talked with me about it. He was delaying because he could not bring himself to do so. Only when my brothers were here, home on temporary leave, could he muster the strength of courage to tell me.

The strength of love and compassion in his eyes melted my anger and hurt and broke the dam behind my eyes. The tears flowed freely now.
In a broken voice, I answered, “Of course, Papa! You know I do. But why? I don’t understand. What did I do wrong that you would send me away! I thought you were happy having me stay here to help you with the farm! You are not as strong or resilient as you once were. Why are you sending me away?”

My words seem to hurt, though I did not intend them that way. Tears now broke and flowed from his eyes as well. Reaching across the table toward me, his palms up, he leaned toward me, eyes imploring me to understand.

“I send you because I must.”

I felt as if he had taken a shovel to my gut. Why must he send me? He offered no further explanation, and I knew I would not get one if I asked. What is this that he was saying? What need would exist that I would have to be uprooted from my farm, my home to go and serve a king who I know in name only? Sure, I heard enough to grant him a respect and honor based on what I heard, but I live my day to day life with little thought to the king or the goings on in the kingdom. My life, my world is this farm, my father, my brothers, my family. I have never sought ambition beyond that. I am content with my life. I loved my simple life.

Interrupting my flow of thoughts and subduing any questions currently forming, my father continued. “My son,” his gaze captured mine, “My sons,” he gazed at each of us in turn, “this role is not as you and your brothers suspect it to be.” His gaze settled on me again. “It is a high honor to be the kings banner bearer. You will represent him! Our king is a kind and just man. He is a man of integrity! He is a good king. His banner is a representation of him, and you have been asked to bear that proudly. You may not understand it now, but as you come to know your king better, you will see the honor that it is.”

The reverence and strength of conviction with which he spoke had each of us looking at our father with a newfound respect, greater than even what we had already possessed. Father never spoke of the king or country much, preferring to live the quiet life of a farmer instead. He had once served in the military under the former king, a period of time he spoke about little. His speaking of the king in such respectful and reverence tones provoked many more questions; more than I had begun with. But I knew my father. He had said all that he intended to.
I silenced my objections and any further questions. Instead, I simply said, “I trust you, Papa. I will go. And I will honor your name.” And with that, my future was set. For better or for worse, I was going. I would be the king’s personal banner bearer, whatever that task entailed.