I read an article today about a woman reflecting on her father’s PTSD. Her family had the same rule as mine—if you needed to wake Dad, you did so from the doorway to prevent the risk of an accidental reaction triggered by a flashback. I wonder how many children of military veterans have lived with this unspoken understanding, shaped by their parents’ trauma.

My father served in Vietnam, and his father was a World War II veteran. My grandfather earned a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart for his service in the Army. I remember hearing that his jeep hit a land mine, but the full extent of his injuries remained unknown to me.

My father, a Navy veteran, carried his scars differently. From what I know, the only wounds he brought home were to his mind—he returned with PTSD.

In our home, the rule was the same. I remember a stray kitten that once found its way into the house, slipping into our beds when it could. One night, it tried curling up with my father. In his sleep, he instinctively swatted it away, sending the tiny creature airborne.

He had a C.B. radio in his car, and his handle was Sea Biscuit. Most assumed it was a nod to the famous racehorse, but I vaguely remember overhearing him explain that it was because he had served in the Navy and was a Seabee. Beyond that, my knowledge of his military service is limited to the photo albums filled with pictures of him in uniform—memories I later inherited.

His service is a chapter I’ll never fully read, but its imprint remains.

As we stand on the brink of yet another potential conflict in the Middle East, I can’t help but wonder how many more children might one day find themselves standing in the doorway to wake their parents. The thought of something worse—of children losing their parents entirely—feels unbearable. It’s a stark reminder of the cycle of trauma that could continue, impacting families across generations.

—Tina Antonis