My name is Stevie Bechtel. I am 11 years old.  I live with my mom, my dad, my younger sister (Kristen; she's 9), my baby brother (Mason; he's one), and our Uncle Travis, who moved in with us last month.  It's been a big adjustment on all our parts.

See, Uncle Travis (he's my dad's younger brother) got hurt in the war, and now he's back home.  He lost his leg; it got blown off in a bomb blast.  He just got out of the rehab hospital, and he still faces months of therapy.  Hopefully one day, he will walk again (with crutches or a new leg), but for now, he sits in his wheelchair, hating the world.

I don't blame Uncle Travis for being mad.  If it were not for the war, he'd still have both his legs, and he'd be playing baseball or football with me and my dad, or some of the neighborhood boys.  Now he can't even do that. 

It's been very hard on him.  Uncle Travis cries or yells out a lot; sometimes during the night, he has bad dreams.  I guess he's dreaming about the war; we haven't been brave enough to ask, but it still bothers us to see him suffering so much. We wish we could do more to help him, but mom and dad say to be patient; things like this take a long time to get over.  You just can't forget losing your leg or being hurt, and then expect to get over it quickly.

Sometimes Uncle Travis yells at me and calls me stupid or dummy.  It really hurts my feelings when he turns nasty like this; you never know when he is going to jump all over you.  I sometimes get mad at him, but I don't say a word to him; figured it's better if things are left unsaid.  I love Uncle Travis, don't get me wrong, but I hate it when he gets mean and yells.

I know he must be in pain.  Sometimes he'll be sitting in his chair, and all of a sudden he will scream, "Ow! Oh! Oh! Oh, my LEG!!  Oh, god, ogod, ogod, it HURTS!! Make the pain stop!!  Oh, migod, it's KILLIN' me!!"  He'll often have tears rolling down his face, and then I feel bad 'cause there's nothing I really can do to help him with the pain.  The doctors say his mind thinks his leg is still there; it plays tricks on him.  He said this may pass, but it will take a while.  We just have to learn to be patient with him and try to comfort him until the pain passes by.

I sometimes wish uncle Travis didn't join up with the Marines, but he wanted to fight for his country, and sometimes one can't help but get hurt (or even killed).  That's the risk soldiers take when they sign up for military duty, and my uncle Travis was no exception.  Now he must learn to live with just one leg and spending time in therapy and trying to get his life back.

Well, Uncle Travis is calling, so I'd best see to what he wants.  Hopefully he won't be screaming at me again.  He yelled at me yesterday because I left my clothes on the floor.  He went ballistic.  It was really bad.  This is why I sometimes don't like my uncle because his moods are so crazy since he got home from the war.