I worry that one of the most consequential moral stories of our time is being lost in that flood: The tens of thousands of Ukrainian children Russia has taken since 2022. To wit, not a single major US paper found this topic significant enough publish this essay.

Please read my Kyiv Independent Opinion piece about the horrific scourge of kidnappings - the first step toward solving this injustice is remembering it.

Throughout my childhood, a small lacquered wooden tablet hung on my bedroom door. On it was short poem, entitled Prayer for a Son. The author was none other than General Douglas MacArthur - an early professional mentor of my grandfather’s and arguably one of the greatest commanders in American military history (and a badass.)

In 1942, soon after Pearl Harbor, while MacArthur and his family were stationed in Australia and he served as Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in the Southwest Pacific Area, he wrote this for his only son, then 4 yr-old Arthur. This was a turbulent time for the MacArthur family, who were together when, following the Japanese violent takeover of the Philippines in WWII, they had narrowly escaped aboard a PT Boat earlier that year. It was at the start of this perilous night voyage through the Japanese fleet when he famously proclaimed to his soldiers, “I shall return,” (which he did - to rescue the troops he had been ordered by the President to leave behind. He was later awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions during this period.)

Anyway, although like my father and grandfather, most of his life was focused on soldiering, MacArthur took great pride in being a father. As recalled in William Manchester’s definitive biography, American Caesar, he wrote a letter that year with the following passage:

“By profession I am a soldier and take pride in that fact, but I am prouder, infinitely prouder to be a father. A soldier destroys in order to build; the father only builds, never destroys. The one has the potentialities of death; the other embodies creation and life. And while the hordes of death are mighty, the battalions of life are mightier still. It is my hope that my son when I am gone will remember me, not from battle, but in the home.”

In any case, this prayer was ever-present in my childhood. At one point I even memorized it, though I admit it wasn’t ‘til after my father died and I had my first son, Tiger, that it’s meaning really began to sink in. So please read it and take from it what you will.

Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.

Build me a son whose wishes will not take the place of deeds; a son who will know Thee—and that to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge.

Lead him, I pray, not into the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm; here let him learn compassion for those who fail.

Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goal will be high; a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men; one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.

And after all these things are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, and the weakness of true strength.

Then I, his father will dare to whisper, “I have not lived in vain.”

There isn’t much more to say about this beautiful piece of writing, other than that in my opinion it is relevant to any child - boy or girl - and any parent - military or civilian - who seeks to be the best person they can be for their loved ones. For me, the wisdom packed into this brief, remarkable piece is timeless. May it be a touchstone for those with whom it resonates, as we all strive in our lives to “fill the unforgiving minute with 60 seconds of distance run” and leave the world better than we found it.

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I’m not a veteran. But having grown up in what I would charitably characterize as the reflected glory of a multi-generational career military family, I eventually came to realize and, many years later, absorbed a great many lessons and learned a lot.

As the grandson and son of the iconic warriors General George S. Patton, Jr., and the equally audacious and effective MG George S. Patton, IV, himself a veteran of combat with four combat tours in Korea and Vietnam, both of whom never threw anything out—I realized that I had a wealth of experiences to draw from.

Though less famous, my mother Joanne Holbrook Patton’s family boasts no less than six

generations of West Point graduates stretching from her brother back to the class of 1812—including two Chiefs of the US Cavalry and a Medal of Honor recipient. As an Army brat and spouse, she moved a total of 45 times and spent most of her adult life supporting Armyspouses and their families until her death at 92 last year. While my four siblings and I chose very different careers, service was etched into us by my parents, and I am proud to say that each of us has served in a variety of ways.

For me, it took a while for that sensibility to sink in. Like a lot of folks, I loved the 1970 film Patton, which came out when I was five—seeing it as a kid is one of my earliest memories. I knew the basics, but I didn’t fully appreciate the value of learning history and biography—starting with my own family–even though my dad had urged us to do so time and again, cautioning that “If you don’t study history, you are destined to repeat it.” But like a lot of self-absorbed teenagers, I just didn’t care that much. In fact, when my high school history teacher urged me to write my thesis on my grandfather in WWI, I got a B.

Looking back, it was pretty embarrassing. I’m happy to say, however, that there was a moment when all that changed, it was because of my mom. I really owe my latent curiosity and growing scholarship around my family’s lineage, not to mention history in general, to her. My professional dedication to the mental well-being of veterans and military families would not have been possible otherwise.

This seismic shift in me occurred following a conversation my mother and I had some twenty years ago, when she related an incident early in her marriage that led to a similar change in her. In 1953, as a new mom whose husband of only a year had just deployed to Korea, 22-year-old Joanne Holbrook was suddenly Mrs. George S. Patton. A mere eight years after the untimely death of her iconic father-in-law, everyone knew General Patton. Whenever someone learned her name, that was all they wanted to talk about and, frankly, she was sick of it.

One day, a cashier and retired NCO at the local commissary noticed her ID Card and asked if she was related to the famous general. Mom snipped, “No, I’m not,” grabbed the groceries, and curtly left. As she reached her car, an officer who knew my dad caught up with her. “Excuse me, Mrs. Patton, but I just overheard what you said to that cashier and I think you are making a mistake. Every time you deny your relationship to General Patton, you miss an opportunity to hear a memorable story or reminiscence by a veteran, possibly someone who has been holding on to that story waiting to share it with someone like you. Often, it’s just as important to be able to share a story, as it is valuable to hear it.”

Mom was stunned and, frankly, embarrassed. More importantly, ever since that day my mom always answered queries about General Patton with something like ”Yes, did you know him?” and then listened intently and asked good questions. As long as I can remember, my parents insisted that we always introduce ourselves to veterans, and ask about their service, and I finally understand why. For them, “Thank you for your service” was meant to be the start, not the end, of a conversation.

This lesson from my much-missed mother was a game-changer for me. Today, whenever I cross paths with a veteran—be it a National Guardsman on duty inside Grand Central Station or a retired veteran with an insignia on his cap or lapel—I stop, introduce myself, and ask them about their service. My older teenage son, Tiger, does the same, albeit with a little nudging, and I think he is beginning to understand it both as an expression of gratitude and, at times, a window into history.

These impromptu encounters haven’t always played out as I expected. Once last summer, I was strolling through a small town in upstate New York, and I noticed an elderly gentleman shuffling gingerly down the sidewalk gripping the handles of his walker. As I approached, I noticed from his cap that he had served in the Army in Vietnam at the same time my dad had commanded the 11th Armored Cav Regiment, Blackhorse. When I asked him if he happened to know my dad, he said he only knew him by his reputation as a very tough soldier. “But your grandpa – that’s a different story.”

He went on to tell me a story I wasn’t expecting - one I’ll never forget. His dad had been a young lieutenant in the Third Army during the Normandy breakout across France in August of 1944. He was taking a cigarette break with members of his company when he heard Patton’s command jeep with its bright red three-star flags roar past him. The jeep screeched to a stop, and Patton jumped out and stomped over to the lieutenant. He had noticed he wasn’t wearing his tie and fined him $75 on the spot.

“He was a real sonofabitch,” the old veteran told me, and then a bit later, “But he was our sonofabitch.”

You just can’t make this stuff up. As a civilian drenched in all things military for my entire life, I’ve learned more about family, the importance of learning history, and valuing service in its many forms than I could ever express. But were it not for one serendipitous exchange with my mom long ago, it might all still be in a dingy cardboard box marked “UNOPENED “in the dark recesses of my mind. What she gave me that day was a start. I felt it then, and I feel it now, every time a veteran in need of fellowship and support bravely steps into one of the Patton Veterans Project’s, I Was There filmmaking workshops.

As trumpeter Joey the Lips declared after a sloppy first rehearsal of the fictional Irish soul band portrayed in the brilliant 1991 film, The Commitments, “Today was a start.” And I believe in starts. Once you have a start, the rest is inevitable.”

Learn more about and support the work of the Patton Veterans Project at pattonvets.org.

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PVP holds its I WAS THERE free weekend filmmaking workshops around the country and abroad where veterans collaborate with fellow vets and pro filmmakers to create short films that express meaningful service experiences.

The PATTON NICKEL newsletter will be reposted on Substack whenever it comes out, but feel free to subscribe to it via the link within the newsletter and join our mailing list.

THE PATTON NICKEL - 6 April 2026

And if you are a veteran and would like to attend one of our free weekend film workshops, please visit pattonvets.org or write me directly at ben@pattonveteransproject.org

Many thanks. Much more to come….

Ben Patton, Founder

Not far from the front, I met a drone pilot who now analyzes lessons learned from warfare and shares them on his X account with more than 100,000 subscribers.

I interviewed a soldier who’d recently received the Hero of Ukraine award (the equivalent of our Medal of Honor), for piloting nearly 1,000 successful drone missions – at age 21.

I spoke to a drone pilot’s wife who founded Dzyga’s Paw, an NGO (named for their dog), which has crowdfunded more than $5 million from donors worldwide to secure drone components. Remarkably, these parts can be assembled and launched in a combat zone in less than 15 minutes — at well under $1,000 each.

Escorted in a van with blacked-out windows to a secret, underground 24/7 command-and-control complex, our team entered a bustling suite of rooms, complete with sleeping pods and wrapped by walls of LED displays that can track dozens of simultaneous drone attacks in real time. It’s revelatory to behold.

Few American policymakers — let alone our allies — have an adequate understanding of the sophistication, scope, and killing power of this cutting-edge apparatus, developed in the crucible of war.

Singlehandedly, Ukraine has ushered in a revolutionary new era of air, sea, and land-based warfare, which is quickly emerging as a staggeringly powerful tool of armed combat. Underlying this is a fabric of fellowship and support that binds the military and civilian communities together.

It’s like nothing we’ve seen since perhaps the American Revolutionary War, when spouses trailed their beloved soldiers across the country from battle to battle, providing goods like soup and coffee, washing clothes, and sewing uniforms.

This year, Ukraine plans to design and build as many as 7 million drones (a whopping 19,000 a day) blanketing sea, land, and sky throughout the country.

These include high-flying reconnaissance drones that scan the countryside identifying military targets; kinetic drones that detonate on impact, “deleting” unsuspecting enemy combatants in an instant; and armor-piercing “shaped” drones that divebomb enemy tanks, rocket launchers, concealed bunkers, and ships with devastating accuracy.

Recently, an Army commander told me of one mission in which a single $500 Ukrainian drone destroyed a $25-million-dollar Russian air defense system: that’s a 50,000x cost disparity.

For proof of the value of Ukraine’s drones, one only needs to listen to President Volodymyr Zelensky’s announcement last week that he has agreed to furnish its Gulf allies with up to 1,000 drones a day, along with pilots and training.

It is astounding to behold this seamless system in action, with technicians well behind the frontlines carefully selecting their targets so as not to risk hitting civilians. All of this is executed by military personnel, young and old, often with that cocky yet serious smile so typical of soldiers under stress.

While crisscrossing the country in relative safety (despite my phone lighting up constantly with missile alerts), we interviewed both senior commanders and enlisted personnel.

Almost every soldier I spoke with voiced the same fear, unprompted: that by the time this war finally ends, global access to drone technology will be so widespread that bad actors from previously unthreatening countries, from deranged extremists to attention-seekers, will have the ability to inflict terror and death anywhere, anytime.

These same warriors said they’d be happy to share their mastery of drone technology with like-minded nations so that, as one put it, “we can be stronger together.”

Above all, they dreamed of returning to their peaceful pre-war lives with security guarantees, I believe they deserve, such as admission to the European Union and membership in NATO, which Zelensky has sought for years. If only they knew how much value Ukraine could provide.

When I was a kid, my family spent summers traversing the world’s battlefields. On those occasions, my dad would often remind me of the advice his father had given him at my age: “It is the unconquerable nature of man and not the nature of the weapon he uses that ensures victory.”

In my two weeks in Ukraine, I saw both.

The United States and its allies must keep a collective eye on what is truly important.

First, we need to accept the fact that modern warfare is changing before our eyes. By preening over our sexy, high-priced Patriot missiles and Star Wars laser defense systems, we are missing the forest for the trees — and risking the lives of our beloved servicemen and women in the process.

Equally important, we need to see the Russian invasion of Ukraine through an entirely different lens. Ukraine is not some rescued animal we’re not sure we want to keep. Rather, it should be seen as a partner engaged in a morally just cause — not unlike our own existential struggle for independence from a ruthless aggressor some 250 years ago.

It’s not too late — But it will be soon enough.

Benjamin Patton is Executive Producer of the forthcoming documentary feature, Drone War One and Founder of the Patton Veterans Project. He is the grandson of General George S. Patton, Jr. and son of Viet Nam and Korean War veteran Major General George S. Patton IV.

ben@pattonveteransproject.org

(917) 968-6096