"How old are you, son?" the officer asked me as I handed him my enlistment papers. "I'm nineteen years old, sir." I lied, although I was very persuasive. He didn't even question me. He took my papers, shook my hand, and said, "Welcome to the Confederate Army, Mr. Whitlock." I smiled proudly as he handed me a uniform. My uniform. I shook his hand one more time before walking back to my bay mare. Sitting tall and proud in the saddle, I rode home. When I returned to the big farm house, I was greeted by my mother, father, and Anne. I dismounted and was about to walk over to them when I was surprised by Anne running into my arms. "Jasper, please don't go. What will I do if something happens to you?" she cried. I didn't say anything, only hugged her and rubbed her back. I looked at my mother, who also looked as if she could cry. I didn't want them to be sad, I wanted them to be happy for me and know that nothing would happen to me. It was strange. One minute, they were both crying and feeling sad, and then the next minute, they were smiling and telling me how proud they were of me. This gift was so confusing. But I liked it. I was going to give them a reason to be proud of me.
