It's Going To Be A Long Year
I just returned from taking my second oldest son to the airport. Michael is a newly minted Corporal in the Army. He was home for ten days on his final block leave before his unit rolls out to Iraq. He's headed to the Sunni Triangle. I won't get more specific, and am making a concentrated effort to self censor myself from using specifics. I work in military circles and it's too easy to forget what is commonly discussed at work is not necessarily for public consumption. Ours is an Army household, with my wife still on active duty, and myself recently retired, a step daughter off to Basic this summer, and of course Michael, (and no, we do not yell hoohah when we get up in the morning). Conversations around here sound like a foreign language to our neighbors and non-military friends! And of course a lot of things discussed here while not classified, are sometimes sensitive. Troop movements being one of them. Although I am amazed that you can find a hell of a lot on Google!
I've got a lot of mixed feelings right now. It did hit me a bit harder than I thought it would at the airport. I feel almost schizophrenic. I'm having to deal with all of the dad feelings, and at the same time my Segeant's eye sizes him up as a soldier. He's a good kid, and a good soldier. Excuse me, good young man, he's 21 now, ( which has it's advantages; we're both a little hungover today). We had Thanksgiving dinner for him last Sunday, since he won't be here next Thursday. Christmas kind of snuck in a little too as we had begun dragging out the outdoor decorations to see what still lit up, and what needed to go.
I'm worried for his safety, but I trust in his training and his leadership. Michael has always taken his training seriously. Don't get me wrong, he gripes about the Army just as I did, and as I suspect Roman Legionaires did before us. That makes me smile..."my Platoon Segeant made us....", my Centurion made us..." Like they say, the more things change, the more they remain the same.
The hardest part of this leave was keeping Sergeant Mom at bay. Sometimes she needs to be reminded to be less mom, and more Sergeant in regards to certain situations. For instance when junior troop son is being a slob, strips the refrigerator bare like a swarm of locusts in a wheat field, and declares a day to run from 1200 hours to 0400 hours. It's my job to gently remind her he's on leave and won't be doing those things again for quite a long time. I do draw the line at coarse language in public or mixed company. F%^& is not an acceptable alternative to every verb, noun, adjective, or adverb known to man! It's not that we're overly sensitive to it; lord knows Sergeant mom could probably make him blush, it's just that we've learned to be a little more genteel when it's inappropriate to speak in soldiereze. He hasn't quite grasped that concept yet.
As you might surmise, the goodbyes here weren't all the teary eyed ones you see on the news. There were those of course from his sister and younger brothers, and I was misty eyed at the airport. Ours included a good dose of soldierly gallows humor as well. Some of you are probably familiar with the joking about serious things that goes on in military circles; "if they got you cornered, take a few with you" etc. Still, the tightness in my chest and the sense of unease are there.
During my years in the Army's Recruiting command I enlisted quite a few young men and women, knowing some would go to war, and some of those might not return. I never took that lightly, but it was still somewhat abstract. It's personal now. I find myself reassessing a lot of my opinions about politics and policies. Maybe it's current events and things coming to light recently. Maybe it's my son. It's probably both. Right now I'm just trying to assimilate how a scabby kneed skateboarder "rucked up" and picked up his rifle. I'm proud of you Mike. You're a good man.
More to follow as I figure this out."