The sounds of the helicopters overhead once again reminded me that this was a dangerous place to be as I readied myself for work in my classic D.C. rowhome. My wife and kids ran around getting ready for work and school respectively as I put on my loafers. Another helicopter buzzed overhead. My heart skipped a beat. This was our nightmare. Living in what seemed to be a constant warzone with all the helicopters flying around.As I ate a small breakfast, my wife told me of her weekend plans with her girlfriends to have brunch at a new place across town, then they'd take the rest of the day at the spa so she'd be refreshed and ready for our vacation to the Bahamas in a little over two weeks time. It would be a welcome change of pace. The warm tropical breeze and the beautiful beaches would make us forget all about the constant whirring of helicopter blades that seemed to permeate every brick in the city at all hours. What hell was this, that I'd place my family here?The pay was certainly great. The company made me an offer I couldn't refuse and they moved me to company headquarters. I had more money than I knew what to do with and my wife was certainly enjoying the new standard of living to which she was fast becoming accustomed to.It would have been bliss. Except I was worried about my children. They were young and maybe they thought the constant beating of the air into submission via rotors was a cool and interesting facet of life in our nation's capital, but I knew better...I knew this would only scar them. The reality of living in a nightmarish warzone is that my children, although well educated, and affluent, are taking on the burden that few in this nation will ever know or realize. Don't thank me for my sacrifice, thank my kids who have to endure the war drums of helicopter rotors...it breaks a fathers heart.