I look out the window and see my neighbor, Norma pushing the stroller on the sidewalks of our subdivision. The stroller passenger is curiously looking at his surroundings. His depthless dark brown eyes captured my heart the first time I saw him. He is healthy-looking, perhaps a little on the chunky side. He looks lovingly at his small-framed Grandmother, as she proudly nods to the neighbors while passing by.

How can he know what is about to happen to him? How do I know what is about to happen to him? I only know what is NOT going to happen. He is not going to be allowed to live with his wonderful grandparents.

You are probably asking where are his parents? Why is he spending his days and nights with his doting grandmother and grandfather? The answer is that his parents are in the Armed Forces. His father is in Afghanistan and soon his mother will also ship out to Iraq. We used to hear the song, When Johnny Comes Marching Home but now we need to make up a new song: When Johnny and Jane come marching home. The most significant title for Clemente would be: When Mommy and Daddy Come Marching Home.

I live in a 55 or older neighborhood and it seems that our bylaws state that Grandchildren can only live with their Grandparents for 90 days. The