What if my son joined the Conferderate army so he can fight my other son who is defending the Union?

Like how William Shakespeare's Rent was a play within a play, your family is suffering a civil war within a civil war. The important thing is to not panic in such a situation, for there is little to no way that your son's little game of sibling rivalry can pan out.

Take this into consideration: How many different divisions of troops are there in an army? If you had to pick your Union son out of all of the different Union troops, you'd have one hellish time. What's worst is that they are all wearing the same ratty navy blue uniforms. Using advanced zebra strategies, the Union would have left you beguiled as to the sheer amount of soldiers you would have to go through until you found your son. Now imagine it is a similar deal with the South, only with gray uniforms and slaves.

So we have several different troops from different fronts, and the possibility of them fighting bothers you? What are the chances that both your sons can be in the same place and fight each other? Not bloody likely, I imagine. Even if they are on the same battlefield, do you have any idea how hard it would be to spot each other from where they are, whilst avoid cannon and musket balls?

That is why it is my great pleasure to tell you that your fears are groundless. Look at the facts! There is little possibility that your sons will kill each other. They will merely die on different battle fields distant from the land they know and their mother's warm embrace. Chances are that they will be hastily thrown into a mass grave, most likely shot dead from friendly fire.

If death is unkind to them and let's them linger, they will be brought back to base, where the arms and legs they were shot in must be amputated in order to stop the spread of gangrene. If your sons are resilient enough, they might not die due to the massive blood lost during the traumatizing operation, but will most likely waste away at your very home, depressed that they gave an arm/leg defending their country.

Life won't be the same after that day, even though you'll try your best to cheer them up. They simply aren't the same people they once were. Their trademark humor is gone now. Gone like the autumn leaves as the Winter months are approaching. "Christmas," you say to yourself. "Christmas will cheer us all up and we'll be a happy happy family again!" It's mid-December and you have the perfect gift for your sons and everything seems to be righting itself out. You can't wait to see the look on their faces when they open up their presents and see that you got them JUST the thing! On Christmas Eve, you walk into the shed to hide the recently wrapped gifts. That's where you see your sons, hanging from the rafters with a tear-stained letter limply hanging out of their pockets. You are called a hero, a savior, a saint, but nothing you could have would have saved them, for even though they were alive, their soul was taken on the battlefield.

If your family is black, your son is a stupid, stupid man.