"Yeah, he's on the Tripoli." This was a text from my daughter about her husband. After hearing that the USS Tripoli, carrying about 2,500 Marines, was en route to the Middle East, I called and asked if that was the ship Jarrett was on. She wasn't sure, but checked as soon as she put the phone down.

Only a few hours before, someone at one of the colleges in northwest Arkansas asked if any of my kids were involved in the Iran situation. I said they weren't, but I could see how the two in the Navy might be. As for the Marine son-in-law, I said, the war would have to take an ugly turn for him to get involved. As if the war weren't already ugly.

And now, apparently, somehow, he's going to be involved.

Only 30 minutes before being asked about my kids, I learned that six U.S. service members aboard a KC-135 had died in a crash in the Iran operation. A few moments after that, I was walking across the college campus and took in the sight of kids the same age as most of those in the Iran fight. I wondered how many of them could make it through the easiest of the military branches' boot camps. I wondered how many of them, including those close to having a degree that will classify them as "college educated," could give a thumbnail sketch of the decades-long troubles between this country and Iran.

It was that feeling of resentfulness again. How is it OK for such a tiny minority of the population to serve in the military? Put another way: How is it OK for the vast majority of the population to thank veterans for their service while never encouraging their own young people to do something for the country? And what exactly is that tiny minority defending? The right for everyone else to overeat? The right for angry boomers to spill their misery into the newspaper's letters section every single day? All of this was in my head before learning that my son-in-law was heading to the Middle East.

A little while after reading my daughter's text to my wife, she asked how the news had landed with me. I said that at least we would have a sense of where Jarrett is, information we haven't had when he's been on ships before. The Tripoli is in the news now. But neither of us could talk much. A pall hung over the house. Suddenly, things felt very real. I sent an email prayer request to the church. This is what it feels like when your kid goes to war.

The president says, "no boots on the ground." I believe that's his intent, and his intent certainly is shaping history. But it can't control history. A couple of weeks ago I sent a note to a retired army colonel.

"I just listened to the statements by SecWar Hegseth and General Caine," I wrote. "I trust them, but have butterflies in my stomach about what might develop on the streets in Iran." Much more so now.

And since this war's start, I've been put off by Hegseth's hubris. Hostile and click-addicted, as much of the media is, I understand his aggressiveness. But even as he denounces George W. Bush, he doesn't see how much his manner of speaking resembles that of the idealistic but deeply ignorant Texan who dreamed of building Western-like democracy in parts of the world that didn't want it. Hegseth is right to see this flaw in Bush's thinking, but his over-confidence and sense of certainty bring Bush's most haunting moments--"mission accomplished," "bring it on"--to mind. I keep thinking, "God looks on the plans of men and laughs." But I hope not at the expense of the Marines aboard the Tripoli.

For nearly 30 years now, I've been interviewing war veterans. Throughout that time, I've become ever more convinced of the stupidity of war.

But humans are what they are, and sometimes war is necessary, and serving in the Navy was the smartest thing I ever did, and I have felt intensely proud to see my kids and son-in-law in uniform.

But it's hard to receive word that one of them is heading into a war zone.

Preston Jones lives in Bella Vista and oversees the War & Life Project.

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