Do the same fingers that skim her neck in bed when he returns in the early hours of the morning also press buttons that discharge AGM-114 Hellfire missiles that destroy enemy safe sahouses in faceless desert towns?
One spring evening in the year 1999 my mother and I were watching Wheel of Fortune when a news bulletin interrupted the show: two young children had been kidnapped from a Native American reservation in New Mexico.
He offered me a fist bump, then seemed to reconsider, and clasped me in a masculine, endearingly chaste hug. “My brother!” he said. “Your wife is a very lucky woman. I hope you get home safe to her, and happy.”