FRED

My son wants a new hat. A red one.

Most people would think of going down the shops and buying one.

But the one he wants can't be bought. It must be earned, by gruelling physical training, long yomps with pack and rifle, a few miles with a telephone pole to be carried by you and a team, a similar challenge with a cast iron stretcher, a minute or so's milling, and finally a few jumps from an aircraft.

What do I think?

There's a challenge to be the best you can be. I get that. Great camaraderie, tick. Proving to yourself you can do something exceptional. I get that too.

But then there's the commitment. No matter how tough he proves himself, he isn't tougher than an IED or a sniper's bullet. I'm proud of him as he is. Coming back from active service in a box or a wheelchair certainly won't make me prouder.

On a more thoughtful level, though, to whom is he proving himself? I don't think he needs to be anything other than he is, and revelling in the exact shaped whole in the Universe made ready for him, and peacefully and effortlessly occupying that space seems to me - admittedly an ageing softie - the very point of life.

Will he go for it? We'll see.
Will my words make any difference? We'll see.
Will he benefit from it? We'll see.
Will he think any better of himself after it? We'll see.
Will anyone else think better of him? We'll see.
Will I? We'll see.
Will it make him a better man? We'll see.