I was standing in Dad's old bedroom when I heard him yelling downstairs. I started getting flashbacks from the break-in. I finished putting on my uniform for the Catholic school I went to from first to fifth grade. I walked to the top of the steps, out of sight and listened to what he was yelling about.

"He shouldn't be goin' to school this soon after a traumatic experience Dad! He needs to stay home or go to a doctor to get checked out for PTSD if he woke up in the middle of the night! Not be going to a high-stress place that may only make it worse if he isn't treated!"

I was halfway down the steps, sitting with my backpack on my back, fiddling with my shoelaces that were just for show. I didn't know how to tie my own shoes until Jack and Sean taught me for a presentation in third grade.

Grandpa was as calm as could be and just replied, "Danny, if you want to get him checked out for PTSD, fine with me. He isn't my child and it isn't my place to object. But I will tell you one thing. If he knows he is being excluded, and those people broke into your house, because of your last name, who knows what will happen. He might get even worse. You can't do that to your baby boy." I looked down at my shoes and wondered if that was true.

I was probably two steps from the bottom of the stairs. I felt a hand on my right shoulder and looked to my left. Uncle Joe was sitting next to me. He smiled and said "Hey buddy. How have you been since I last saw you? Gotten any tougher?"

I put my head down and shook my head. "No. Only more scared and confused, Uncle Joe. Is what Grandpa saying, true? Is our last name, why the house was broken into?"

He looked up then sighed, wondering what to say. I looked up to him, and whimpers started to escape. Tears started to roll down my cheeks. He wiped them off, and whispered, "Listen to me, kiddo. If it was, there was nothing you could have done that would've prevented it. If it wasn't, well, then there still wasn't anything you could do to prevent it. So basically, either way, you couldn't have prevented it Xavy." I giggled when he called me that. He smiled at the fact that he was distracting me from the pain I was going through.

"Uncle Joe? How old was I when you were killed?" I asked as I looked up at him.

He turned to me with his bright green eyes, and his wide, forced smile and said "Xavy, I remember a couple weeks before I died, it was your second birthday party. You were still about a month and a half away from turning two, but it was the only night we could get most everyone together. We were having your party here. I came and held you because your dad was working late. You were crying because you were lonely, and everyone who tried to hold you gave up after you wouldn't stop crying. They would keep putting you in your crib, letting you cry until someone else got tired of hearing you cry and they attempted to hold you. Until I picked you up. As soon as I stood over your crib, you stopped crying and reached your tiny little hands up to me. I picked you up, and everyone was amazed, that I was the only one that could make you stop crying. I carried you around, and if I put you down, you started crying again." I looked up at his face, and he was starting to tear up.I nodded at the story he was telling, and looked back down at my feet.

"I tried to teach you how to play football to join the family football games on Thanksgiving when you were old enough. You knew how to get the ball, but you started to chew on it every time you got it. Dad would even give you the ball just so we couldn't play."

I looked back up to him and asked, "Is that why I like football so much now? Is 'cause you tried to teach me?"

He chuckled and nodded, "Maybe buddy. Maybe. Maybe it's cause you play it with your brothers so much too. But on your birthday, I came over to tell you happy birthday when I got called in, to work undercover with the Blue Templar. And that was the last time I saw you before I died. Your little steel blue eyes, your short platinum blonde hair, your tiny little smile, your tiny little plastic glasses so you could see. You were so innocent. I didn't deserve to have you as my nephew. Your smiling little face. Your sweet little face was the last face I saw before I was killed." I sat confused, and wondered about the Blue Templar. Who were they, and why did they kill my uncle? What happened to them?

"What happened to the Blue Templar or whatever they're called?" I wondered out loud. He laughed and patted my back a couple times.

"Why don't you go ask your grandpa and father?"