A story from the early years of Operation Capitol Shield

 

“Don't Go Out Sad” (Washington, D.C., 2025)

A story from the early years of Operation Capitol Shield

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Sean never liked the phrase “single parent.” Too clinical. Too easy to misunderstand. He wasn’t alone every day — his ex, Tasha, still took their daughter Mariah on alternate weekends when work didn’t get in the way — but for most nights, most mornings, and every school drop-off, it was just him and a nine-year-old who still called peanut butter “baby paste.”

He used to worry about what she’d see growing up here, in Ward 7, two blocks from a Shell station that used to get robbed twice a month. But things had changed. Not in the way people expected — not by hiring more cops or cutting ribbons on new condos — but with the hum of diesel engines and boots in the schoolyard.

It started slow in late 2023, when the President sent in the troops. Not the weekend Guard. The real thing. Camouflage, Humvees, radio squawk in the air. People freaked out — signs, lawsuits, segments on the evening news. But by now, in 2025, they were just part of the landscape.

You’d see them at rec centers, pushing swings, fixing benches. You’d see them at the Safeway, handing out reusable bags and directing traffic. And somehow, you’d gotten used to them at the school — standing watch outside like steel-jawed nannies.

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Sean still wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

He kept things tight. Always had. Tasha used to call him “Don’t Go Out Sad” because he never left the house without checking the locks twice, checking the route three times, making sure his girl’s shoes were tied, her tablet charged, and that she had a mini flashlight in her backpack — just in case.

“You think we’re going to war, Sean,” she once joked.
“We already did,” he said. “Now we just live in the ceasefire.”

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On a windy March morning, Sean took Mariah to the community gym for Operation Capitol Shield Family Fitness Day — something that sounded more like a recruiting ploy than a good time. But Mariah wanted to go. Her new favorite teacher, Staff Sergeant Velasquez, was leading the kickball game. She’d even made a card for him with glitter and a red, white, and blue sticker that read: “Thanks 4 Serving.”

Sean folded his arms as she joined the group of kids warming up. Troops in camo pants and t-shirts jogged in circles with them, calling out encouragement. Parents handed off baked goods and thermoses of hot cocoa to smiling soldiers under a big sign that read:
“Courage Is Community.”

One soldier, an older Black woman with salt-and-pepper hair, handed Sean a foil-wrapped biscuit and said, “Thanks for coming out, brother. We appreciate the support.”

He took it, a little stunned. “I didn’t bring anything.”

She smiled. “You brought your kid. That’s enough.”

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The next afternoon, Mariah brought home a permission slip for a Troop-Led Field Trip to the Smithsonian’s American History Museum. Sean scanned it three times. Uniformed escorts, armored bus, lunch included, pickup at 1700. He couldn’t decide if it was comforting or dystopian.

But the next morning, she went. And she came home beaming — carrying a fold-out flag brochure, a plastic dog tag stamped with her name, and a souvenir patch that read "CIVIC STAR — 2025."

“They let me hold a real Medal of Honor,” she said, eyes wide. “And I got to be a ‘junior mission leader’ because I said please twice in a row.”

Sean chuckled. He wanted to say something cynical, something protective. But all that came out was: “That’s good, baby. That’s real good.”

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Later that week, after Mariah was in bed, Sean stepped outside for some air. The street was quiet — not silent, but calmer than it had been in years. A pair of soldiers walked slowly past, one of them sipping coffee from a pink Starbucks cup with a smiley face drawn in Sharpie.

The other nodded at Sean. “Good evening, sir.”

Sean nodded back, hands in pockets.

Was this what peace looked like now? Not perfect. Not exactly free. But stable. Predictable. Maybe even survivable.

He watched them go, disappearing into the stillness, and thought of the name Tasha gave him back when the city was different.

Don’t Go Out Sad.

He smiled. Maybe not. Maybe they wouldn’t.

Not tonight.