My Uncle

My name is Darren and I am 14 years old. I want to tell you about my uncle Jim. You see, he was different before the war.

Uncle Jim never used to hang out with us. He would drive up in his car, walk right through the porch, and talk with my mom for a while. She was always sad afterwards, probably because he was such a dead beat and always wanted money. I never disliked him, though. In a way, he was cool.

Then the police got him for some kind of felony and he was sent to Afghanistan. When he came back this summer, he was different. He was so skinny and sad, and he had very short hair. He was a prisoner of war, just like my dad, except uncle Jim got back. I remember the first time I saw him after that, he was walking to the porch, and he had these inward-looking eyes. It was like he did not want to see anything that was going on.

Now he lives with us and we hang out all the time. He is still a dead beat, but he is okay. Kind of cool.

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