Letter to my Son, Part II

Dear David,
I realize that you are too young to read this and understand it, but I know that one day you will be old enough to read it, and hopefully, wise enough to understand it. Every day I wake up, I look at a picture of you, I have seven of them hanging in my room in a picture frame, haphazardly arranged. I have a picture of you when you were a month old, the birth announcements that we had made up for Christmas. There is a picture of me awkwardly holding you, me dressed up in my uniform, you in a one piece getup that looks mildly ridiculous, but not quite as ridiculous as the way I am holding you, in a type of offering. I see you on Skype, your chubby cheeks so reminiscent of mine, calling me "Dada" then beginning to suck on your toes. I miss these moments, due to my own fault, but I hope you do not hold this against me. I do this not for myself, but for love of country. For the faith that maybe, one day, Afghanistan can be something more than it is. I do it out of duty, duty to my fellow brothers-in-arms. But there is yet one love, one duty that I have neglected. You. For this, I apologize, for I know that when I get home, you will be but a little over a year old. You will never know that I was gone, except for what I tell you. You will never know the things I have done, the places I have been, the stories I have to tell. Except for those I tell you. What innocence I see in your eyes, and I long for that same innocence. I long to be as pure and innocent as you, but I cannot. I long to hold you and whisper my secrets into your ear, knowing you won't tell anyone, that they will be between you and I, but, alas, I cannot. One day, soon, I will hold you in my arms and profess my deepest love for you. I will see the undeniable love in your eyes, the sheer trust, the faithfulness you have in me to provide for you. But do not be mistaken. Do not trust me, do not have faith in me. The most important lesson I can teach you is this: trust in your fellow man, have faith in him, but do not put all of your faith and trust in any one man. Have faith and trust for mankind. The most important contract you will ever make will be one of a handshake, not one signed with a pen. Your word is all you have, keep it, and people will give you their all, break it, and they will take all. But, as in the last letter, remember, Faith, Hope and Love are still the greatest.

Love,
Your Dad
(from Afghanistan)

Father's Day

Tomorrow will be my first Father's Day as a father. It is both thrilling and bittersweet, as I will be leaving for Afghanistan very shortly and will not be able to see my son. I have missed many firsts and will miss quite a few more before I return home next year. His first time holding his bottle on his own, his first time crawling, his first time talking, his first time walking. These are memories that I will never be able to hold and cherish, but I hope that in ten or fifteen years when my son asks me why I left, he can understand the values that I hope to instill in him: love of God, family and country. This post, however, is not about me, it is about my father, and another gentleman I have recently come to know. My father is not my biological father, he adopted me at the age of seven. I cannot call him a gentle man, as I never saw him cry until he lost his leg in 2003. He has never been prone to show weakness, only in his times of vulnerability have I ever seen that. He was an angry man, prone to spankings and a backhand before he would consider sending me to the corner. He showed me what it meant to work, clocking in 40 plus hours during the week and helping out friends on their farms and roofs on the weekends. I joined the military in part because I wanted to be like him. He is now a frail man of 65, but he has never lost the twinkle in his eye, that sly look that he always carried about him. He still loves a good joke and is still too proud to ask for a hand. I hope that one day I can epitomize that which he is, a hard working, blue collar family man.

Now to the other part... My biological father found me via Facebook. In a story straight out of a Lifetime movie... When my son was born I posted some pics of him on FB. Someone sent him a link of the pics of my son and told him that these were pictures of his grandchild. He sent me a message, we met, had a DNA test, and the results confirmed that he was my biological father. It's odd for a 22 year old man to meet his father for the first time. I had written this man off a long time ago as a dead beat man who didn't care enough to even try to find me. Now, I realize that he didn't try to find me not because he didn't want to, but out of love. The realization that him trying to become a part of my life at the time would have been catastrophic. My adoptive parents love and support me to achieve all of my dreams, and for that, I am truly grateful. However, I also want to know what else is out there. This man was diagnosed with cancer and has had repeated operations on it. My fear is that I will never truly get to know this man, that the tragedies of life may take him away before I can pick his brain, to find out who my biological father is. As it is said in the Middle East, Inshallah, or God Willing, I will get to discover who this man is. If fate has it differently, however, I can answer that question that has been nagging me all of my life. I know who my fathers are.

Joplin

May 23, 2011 started out as a normal day in Ft. Polk, LA. Waking up at 6 am, I prepared to go to work. Chow, shower, shave, all everyday occurances for myself as I prepare for my second deployment to Afghanistan. Greeting fellow soldiers as I walk into work, my supervisor calls me over to his desk. "Have you talked to your family? Are they all ok?" I wonder why he would be asking such a question, and I told him that I had talked to my wife and family a few days prior, as cell phone reception is extremely spotty. He then told me that a tornado had hit Joplin. I told him I knew that a small tornado had hit St. Johns the night before, but there wasn't any major damage. About that time, I turn around and on Fox News is footage of a picture that will be forever seared into my mind, one of destruction and devestation. As what had happened sunk into my mind, a million thoughts raced into my mind. My wife, my son, my parents, her parents, her grandparents, friends, aquaintances, thousands of thoughts. My boss told me to take a few hours and get ahold of my family to ensure that they were safe. I checked my email, eight emails from my wife telling me everyone was safe, my mom and dad were ok, my son was safe. Then there was a BUT. Isn't there always a but? Grandma's house was gone. The destruction and devestation at 24th and Grand was so bad my Grandmother got lost trying to find what little remained of her house. The power and strength that she showed in her statements still awe me, even now: my house is gone, but I want to help others. The dedication, hardwork, and love that this woman gave to Joplin in her darkest hour is awe inspiring. Her selflessness and caring still fill me with pride. But this is not about her, not singularly, it is about Joplin as a collective. Neighbors pouring out of ruins minutes after the storm had passed, looking for friends, neighbors, strangers, pets. Trying to comprehend that which had just happened and already moving on. The stories of those who gave their lives so that others may live. The gentleman at Home Depot sheperding customers to safety, only to fall while giving others life. The manager at Pizza Hut, holding down the door to the freezer. A week after this tragedy occured, I was talking with a dear friend Debbie, and told her that there is only one other place that I have seen such courage occur: that is the battlefield. I have not seen the destruction first hand, only pictures on the internet. I cannot comprehend getting lost in two blocks because there are no street signs in Joplin. I cannot comprehend looking down from 32nd Street and seeing 20th. I cannot comprehend a third of Joplin being flattened. I cannot comprehend Joplin. I sat down outside and I cried for half an hour. Even with the knowledge that my family was safe, I cried. I cried for Joplin. I cried for those who lost their lives. I cried most of all, however, because I know Joplin will never be the same. The stories of courage and assistance are even greater than those of death, the story of the gentleman who drove a Dodge Ram from California and simply handed his keys to a lady who lost everything. The sheer number of volunteers that showed up to help. From Carthage, Neosho, Webb City, Oklahoma, Kansas, Arkansas, New York, and points north, south, east, west, from all over the United States. For a brief moment in time, the world was Joplin. Donations poured into Joplin, the POTUS made a brief stop to show that we are united as one. When tragedy strikes, the world stops. Some want to simply gawk, but most want to help. I wish I could have come home, to have helped, to have shown love to my town, my people, my home. Joplin has faded from the national light, the news trucks are gone, the volunteers slowly leaving town, the donations fading. But one thing remains: Joplin. It is still there. The people, the buildings, the town, the love. Joplin will be here in five years, in ten, in fifty. It will never be the same, but it will be. The love you get is equal to the love you give. Joplin still has not stopped giving.

I am Joplin.

Usama bin Laden died for Islam, why won't you?

The excitement of President Obama strolling up to the podium last night to announce to the nation and the world that Usama bin Laden has been killed by a US operation in Pakistan. There was an atmosphere of celebration, albeit muted, here at Camp Shelby, MS. Some of you know, some of you don't, that I am currently training up to deploy to Afghanistan. I just wanted to take a few minutes to express my thoughts on the situation. I need to throw this in here:

*The following views are my own, and in no way reflect the views of the US Army, DOD or any government entity.*

Now that thats out of the way, the killing of Usama bin Laden is a highly symbolic gesture. He has been in hiding for the past 10 years, and probably hasn't given any signifigant orders to the Taliban in 2-3 years. As someone put it on Facebook last night: Usama bin Laden: world hide and go seek champion 10 years running. He has been a symbolic face to the Taliban, and realisticly, he has been out of the spotlight for several years.

The reality of the situation is this: the Taliban will want vengence. This will not go unanswered. The new question is not will you die for Islam. The new question is: bin Laden died for Islam. Why won't you? The Taliban are going to unleash a hell on US troops in Afghanistan for this. Pissing off a bunch of extremists with access to guns and explosives is not a good idea. The death toll will rise dramatically, and will not stop until we leave the country. Do not read that and think that I believe we need to get out of the country, for I don't. We went into Afghanistan for a reason. Now, whether that is the main reason that we stay does not concern me. I have been there, seen the country first hand, and strongly believe that we are there for the right reasons. On this note, I shall end: do not be naive and think this is over.

Letter to my Son

David,

I know you are too young to read this, as you haven’t even left your mother’s womb, but I hope that one day you shall be able to. As we sit here in the birthing ward, growing impatient by the minute with your stubborn refusal to leave the warmth of your mother, we know that in due time you shall come, that not by our time line, but by yours. I know that soon enough I shall be able to hold you in my arms, kiss you, and just run around the hospital gushing in the joys of fatherhood. I know that you will be perfect in every way, beautiful, intelligent, and just generally perfect, like your father. I know that you were not planned, that we are not ready for you, but yet we have no choice. We have been blessed by God with you, and I plan to make the most of that blessing. I hope that I can teach you the important things in life, faith, hope, love, honor, commitment to family, country, and complete and total belief in your morals. I hope I can teach you to never be too proud to admit you are wrong, to not boast when you are right, and to be humble in all situations, no matter what your life may become. I hope that you can become a man unto yourself, that your beliefs and views reflect you, not myself, not your mother, but that you believe them with your whole heart and mind. That you can find the love of a woman, as I have found the love of your mother, that you two can complete each other, grow old and gray in the comfort of each others' arms. That you have a sense of humor, one that rivals mine, that you be able to laugh in all situations, for the greatest gift you can give someone is not a thing, but the feeling of joy. I know that soon, you will give me that greatest gift of all.

Love,

Dad

Beautiful Oblivion

As I sit in bed, watching my wife sleep, I take a look at my past, my present, and my future. How all of my decisions in life have led me to this point, at 4:26 on Thanksgiving morning, thinking of all the things I am thankful for. I write this with conflicting emotions, as I am glad to be home for the holiday season, as this will be the first Thanksgiving I have been able to spend with my family since 2006, but also, for the past three years, I have known what it has felt like to be in a crowded room with hundreds of people, fellow soldiers, but yet totally feel alone. My heart goes out to those soldiers currently in harm’s way, in Iraq, Afghanistan, and other locals such as Kuwait, Korea, Germany, and anywhere troops may be stationed and unable to make it home for the holidays. However, I digress from the original intent of this post. I see my wife sleeping, glowing in the majestic beauty of the last few days of her pregnancy, knowing that by next Saturday I will be a father, my life forever altered. I think of how our choices have led up to this point, the good ones as well as the bad. I can say with great pride that I regret very few choices that I have made in my life; this unplanned pregnancy is one I know I will never regret. I fear that we are not ready for this child, that we are not financially secure enough, mature enough, old enough, our house not baby proofed enough. But I know that in a week none of that will matter, because my world will forever change with the simple, primal sound of my son’s first cries. I know that my life will change from being self-centered, focused on my well being, to being focused entirely on that child. I realize now I am more in love with my wife than ever. Upon reflection, I realize I may have married Melony for all the wrong reasons, but that we stick together for the right one: love. I realize that most of the choices I have made in the past few years have been about me, about what I want, everyone else’s opinions be damned. I extended in Kuwait not for my wife and my own financial well being, I did it because I wanted to. All of the motives were entirely self-centered. I want to apologize to my wife, to ask her for her forgiveness, but I can’t. I see myself repeating the cycle, volunteering to go to Afghanistan again next year. I pray that she understands my choices, can forgive me for them. I love her with all my heart and try to do right by her as much as I am capable of. I am not sure what my intent of this post was, nor am I entirely sure that I achieved what I wanted. Life is forever changing and will be drastically altered for myself in a week. I know that I will be back on here then, gushing over my newborn son. Until then, I wish you all the best. Happy Thanksgiving.

My Greatest Fear

My greatest fear is not going home. It is going home and finding out that I like it more here than I do at home. I hope that this fear is never realized, for my wife as well as myself, for my sanity. The past two years has been one long lesson in which I have learned more about myself than I ever thought possible. The past few days I have spent in recollection of the choices that I have made that have brought me to this point. The question that has been at the forefront of my mind is why am I still here? I can't seem to find an answer that I can accept. I tried to say that it was for the money, the college, patriotism, to give my wife a life that she could not have otherwise. None of these answers can quell that nagging thought. I may never be able to give myself an answer that I find truly acceptable. I find myself thinking that I may have done this for all the wrong reasons. If all those reasons were wrong, then what are the right reasons? Are there any? My mind constantly nags me, telling me I have wasted the past two years of my life, but I know I have not. The past week has been the longest of my life, as I know the next two will be even longer. I am anxious to go home, but at the same time am reluctant, as I wonder how my friends, my family, will look at me. If I will ever be able to sit at the table on Thanksgiving and not feel like an outcast, a stranger in my own home. Will they ever be able to comprehend the things that I have been through, my experiences? My memories? The sound of the car bomb going off, seeing the mushroom cloud, wondering if that is all or if they are going to try to hit the camp again? The sound of the first mortar hitting the ground in the distance, wondering if the next one that hits is going to result in a an officer knocking on my wife's door, a flag being handed to her with an officer quietly whispering these words into her ear: "Mrs. Hatfield, this flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation." I wonder if it would have been worth it, laying my life down in a foreign country that is most likely going to return to the ninth level of hell once we leave it. I wonder if it was worth the lives of those we have lost, SPC Walters, SPC Casey, and many others. Maybe in thirty or forty years I will be able to sit down with my grandchildren as they ask me about Iraq and Afghanistan. Hopefully I will be able to tell them how proud I was to be a part of the change, how I helped them improve their countries, how I did my part. I truly hope that is how this turns out, but I have my doubts. I hope that I can find an answer to my nagging question, but I fear I never will.

Finding Myself

Two years ago today I flew into Kywait. The past two years have been full of joy and heartache, lost friends, and learning. I originally joined the army as a way to find myself, to find what I am made of, to discover my true self. Four years later, I'm not sure if I am any closer to that goal than I was the day I signed my contract. I have discovered many things I am capapble of doing, from surviving 150 degree Baghdad summers to changing a transmission in a military truck. I have discovered that I can survive a week without a shower. I have learned that I can do anything I set my mind to.

But have I found myself? Have I found who I truly am? Have I found out what I want to do in my life? As most of you know, I will be heading home in a month. I am, for lack of better words, scared as to how I will cope with being home. After two years of being told what to do every day, of having every last minute of my day planned for me, how am I going to adjust to a life of disorganization, waking up whenever I want, doing whatever I want, getting in my truck and just driving? I do not have these freedoms where I am. I wonder if I will be able to accept them, to not have to drive down the road wondering if someone is going to try and kill me. Only time shall tell if I will be able to survive my demons. I do not have many of them, but I have enough of them...

Christmas

It is currently about 3:15 pm on December 23, 2009. I sit in Kabul, Afghanistan, pondering the past, present, and the future. Two years have come to pass since I left home in October of 2007. It has been a bumpy road, one filled with triumph, sadness, joy, and sometimes depression. We received a suicide awareness briefing a few weeks ago, with the Battalion chaplain coming in and stressing the need to watch over each other during the holiday season and keep each other in good joy. As I sit here and ponder my current situation, I feel no sadness at missing Christmas, I just feel a sort of longing. Longing to hold my wife in my arms, to watch the joy on my four year old nephew's face as he opens gifts from "Calvin." He made a comment the other day, one that touched me very deeply. As he and his mother were driving down the road, he told his mom that he was going to buy an airplane so he could fly "Calvin" back and forth so he can see him. I am glad for his sake that he does not understand the reasoning for me being here. Missing the cutting of the ham, the drinking of the egg nog, and the warmth of a house full of family, love and cheer. I take great pride in the fact that I will be surrounded by my brothers and sisters in arms. I will be surrounded by Brits, Aussies, Canadians, Hungarians, French, Czechs, Spaniards, and others. We are all just ordinary people taken away from our loved ones in ways that we did not ask for, but knew that it was a possibility. We will sit around the table on Christmas, blessed by each others company, but all knowing that we are missing one thing, and that is the warmth and love that only your family can provide. I signed my name to a piece of paper four years ago not knowing where the path would lead me. I do not regret my decision for one moment, and have been blessed by those who not only know and love me, but those who have never met me, have merely seen my name on Facebook and taken me under their wings with words of encouragement and love. I thank you all for those words. I take comfort in the knowledge that in two months I will be home with my family again and am fully ready to come home. I know that this post was rambling and slightly incoherent, but I simply wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Years. I beg you as you sit at the table for dinner on Friday, to look your loved ones in the eyes, tell them you love them, and do not take simple freedoms for granted. God Bless and protect.

SPC Hatfield
Kabul, Afghanistan

Memories of my Father

My father is going into heart surgery tomorrow, on 21 October 2009. We are not sure what the outcome will be, but hopefully everything will be kosher and he will make it through. I figured I would write a piece about him as my way of coping with the situation. I feel vulnerable writing this and posting it on here, but at the same time, I have always found writing to be therapeutic. So, here goes.

I always remember my father as a strong man, a hero in my eyes. A former racing jockey, rodeo clown, and bull rider, he was not a big man by any means. But he was always strong enough to lift us onto the 55 gallon barrel chained to the tree in the back yard. Strong enough to help me steer the old Chevy in the pasture; strong enough to move what seemed like entire trees with me helping. He was always trying to teach me things, showing me the value of a hard day’s work. The man who helped build Air Force One, the man who was in the Navy during the Vietnam era, the man who rode bulls, the man who has two scars on his chest from being speared by a bull. The man I always looked up to. He seemed to be indestructible, an immortal put on this earth to show me, a mere mortal, the truths of life. To show me how to become productive member of society. I will always remember him as that man, not the frail man he has become today. He has continually earned my respect and admiration. He has never given up, even in times and circumstances where others would have done so easily. Two major heart attacks, a leg amputation due to a broken leg, diabetes, heart clogs, and trouble breathing, he has continued to push forward, to be there for his children and grandchildren. I ask myself, if in his position, would I have the courage, the will to carry on as he does? The answer I hope is yes, that he has instilled the courage and the values to carry on in such a manner, to never give up, to always keep fighting, to be an honorable man in an unhonorable world. To continue to better myself, to strive for perfection, to set the standard, not just meet it. I fail in some of these categories, but in others, I excel. My father has only told me he was proud of me one time, just a few days before I left for Iraq. I am not ashamed to admit that a tear or two streamed down my face. As I sit here facing the realization that I may never see him alive again, I once again want to cry. I cried tonight for the second time in two years, the first time being after I lost a soldier. I tell you this, knowing that it is the value of honesty that my father has instilled in me, the value of shamelessness, the value of courage, and of honor. I pray that after he has passed, whether that be tomorrow or ten years from now, that I can continue to carry on his legacy, to be half the man he was, and to maybe instill in my future son the same values, that he be a man of honor as much as mine was. I can only pray for my father’s safety, that he may make it out of the operating room tomorrow, but if he doesn’t, I know that he will have gone to a better place, free of the pain and the suffering that he is going through right now. In closing, I am most saddened by the fact that my father will probably never see this, never know my true feelings of him. Tears currently blur my vision at this thought, and it is becoming difficult to typ. I love you, Dad

Exhaustion

I apologize to all for not posting for two months… Some of you guys are crazy enough to actually follow this, and for that, I apologize. As most of you know, I will have been deployed for two years this October. As I sit here and I reflect upon the choices leading up to these deployments and the decision to continue my deployment voluntarily, I ask myself why I continue to do so. The honest answer is unknown to me. I have my excuses that I throw out when I get the “are you crazy look” when I tell people how long I have been deployed. The answers are as follows: my main goal is to get 36 months active duty time to be able to receive 100% of the new GI bill. Granted, I have a scholarship, but the GI Bill pays better. The second is that I am trying to get all my bills paid off. My debt to income ratio would blow most people’s minds, as it is well below the national average. The third is that I am trying to save up as much money as I can. I find this last one to be difficult due to the fact that I am supporting my wife and also that we are trying to pay down all our bills. Lastly, I have a debt to my brethren that I be here supporting them, helping them out in any way that I can. All of these reasons are valid points, but I increasingly am asking myself if they are enough. I am concerned that the prolonged separation from my wife is taking a toll on our marriage. That my separation from reality and society is going to change me in ways that I never intended. I do not know how my deployments have changed; me only that they have. I do not believe any single person could tell me what those changes are, but I increasingly hear that I am not the boy, not the man, that left home two years ago. I am worried as to how these changes will affect me once I return home for good. I wonder if I will be able to reintegrate myself into the life that I once had, if anything that I can have from here on out will ever be the same. I do not know the answer to these questions, as only time will tell. I only hope that I can become a productive part of society and return to that which was before. Lastly, I feel the need to end this post with a quote, one which I find very fitting. I have never doubted my service to country, as it is what I have always wanted to do. Nor do I doubt that upon returning home that I will continue my military service. I cannot see myself doing anything else. “I don’t know what your destiny will be, but one thing I do know- the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve” Albert Schweitzer, M.D., Nobel Peace Prize, 1952.

Saying Goodbye

How do you say goodbye to those you love, those you care about? Saying goodbye is one of the hardest things we can do. I have had to bid fair adieu to far too many people whom I have loved and cared for. Putting on a false face of bravery when looking forward into the unknown is one of the most difficult things one can do. Alas, I have perfected the art. Hoping that he doesn’t spy the tears beginning to brim; hoping that she doesn’t see through your falsities; hoping that they do not question your strength, that they do not question your courage, your bravery. When saying goodbye there is always the lingering question that no one wishes to ask, will you return as you leave me. Will it be in a wooden box while you are dressed up in your Greens, looking pristine, with a soldier handing your wife a flag “on behalf of a grateful nation.” These fears are always present. I do not fear for my own death, as there is no greater calling than mine. I fear that my family will be lost without me, that they may not be able to be whole again. I have made many great friends over the years, some I will see again, but most that I will not. Day, Keener, Caldwell, Pettit, the list could go on forever. Saying goodbye to them has never been easy. I have been having weekly meetings with one of the Chaplains here on post, and tonight was our last get together. As the evening wound down, I began to reflect, to relive the goodbyes to my wife, my father, my mother, my family and friends. They have never been easy, and they will never get any easier. The knowledge that you may never see them again is a heavy burden to carry, so we all put on our masquerades, some with humor and others with solemnity. No matter the mask that one puts over it, down deep, the pain is still there. It always has been and always will be. The pain may fade, but in times of weakness, they creep to the top of your mind. These times are necessary, as they allow time to contemplate those you truly love and care for, and remind you that what you do is honorable, that there is nobility in your suffering. Chaplain G, you are a gentleman and a scholar, and have impacted my life in ways that you may never truly realize. It has been a privilege knowing you. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors.

Soul Searching

First all, I have an announcement for all of you, some may have already heard, others, this may be news to you... I have volunteered for another tour over here, so I will most likely not be coming home until next May or June. My wife and I discussed this, and came to the conclusion that financially, it is the responsible thing to do. Granted, I had to make a few concessions, as we both did. Now, on to my actual blog post for today. I was recently chatting with a friend on Facebook, and he asked me some question that I really, deep down inside, do not want to answer, but I shall make an attempt to do such. He asked me if I truly knew myself, knew what I truly wanted in life. The answer, realistically, is no, I do not know myself or what I want in life. I am a painter, painting my life stroke by stroke, each stroke adding to the beauty of what we call our future. Some strokes end up as blemishes in the painting, and they should be admired for their inherent beauty, as each decision we make in life, whether good or bad, is a choice that we cannot change. I cannot take the mistakes I have made in life back, I can only try to learn from them and change the future, shape it in ways as to try to avoid those mistakes again. I do not regret the choices I have made, for that only festers the wounds that they leave, and at some point you will have to realize that there is nothing you can do about it. I feel as if in the past year and a half that I have learned more about myself than I ever thought I would know. I have come to realize that I can endure the sweltering heat of a Baghdad summer, and I can take the grueling demands of war, and I can walk away unscathed. I am not trying to make it sound as if I have done more than I have, for I have never shot my rifle in anger. There is an inherent nobility to what I do, but I am not noble. I am just like every other soldier here. We joined the army to become something more, to be more than just another kid in a town where everyone knows each other, where no one make a good living, where you grow up, grow old, and die. We wanted to be the guy or gal who made it out, and we have succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. No one in the military at this point in the war joined without the knowledge that they may someday go to war. On the contrary, we joined or re-enlisted with the hope that someday we would get our chance. I have had mine, and from what I have seen, war is a terrible thing. Not neccisarily speaking of the obvious loss of life from enemy engagements, but the unseen strains that war puts upon people. My greatest sacrifice has not been putting my life on the line, but rather leaving my wife home alone and coming over here to try to provide a life for her, to try to give her the things that I would not be able to provide to her if I were home. Alas, I digress from my original thought, but this is all leading back to that. War has changed me, my wife has told me. She is not yet quite sure if it is in a good way or a bad way, but she says it has. Some of the things I have noticed are that I have matured years since I have been here, have stopped acting so much like a teenager, and more like a man. A dear friend once told me that she has watched me transform from an "awkward teenager" into a man. I hope that as I continue on this journey, that I learn more about myself, that one day I can truly know who I am and what I want in life. I have a rough draft in the back of my mind right now, and hopefully, one day, it will be as beautiful a painting as the Mona Lisa. Only time will tell...

Comments

The following writing is not mine, it was a comment left on my previous post. It was an anonymous post, but I believe I know the culprit, but the investigation is still ongoing... It moved me, as I hope it also moves you...

"The ultimate sacrifice," in our vernacular, reflects a noble, voluntary gift of one's life to death for others--a gift which only the Narcissus's among us, without success, attempt to diminish. Others make sacrifices, similarly noble, which do not involve giving up the ghost. Perhaps, if we perceive our dead heros as having achieved rest in the afterlife, we may also see, through the looking glass, some of our living heros and their families walking an even more difficult, equally noble, but oft forgotten path: living for untold decades, incessantly persecuted by the abdominal hauntings of their experiences; missing limbs, and faces; damaged brains, or sanity; life as a quadraplegic from a 7.62 x 39 to the neck? Even Jesus told his followers that they would achieve greater things than he did--perhaps he intended, at least in part, their years of struggle in this life contrasted with the restful peace of his death, and their own. As for you, my friend, you're just as much of a hero to me, for you put on a uniform and offered yourself just as they did, and would have died had it been your lot. Heroic nobility roots itself in the gift as much as in the death, or life, of the giver. You portray sincere humility, so, you do not count yourself a hero, which is as it should be, making you even more heroic. It is my job to call you "hero," which, also, is as it should be. In any event, let us honor the sacrificial dead, without forgetting the sacrificial living.

Experiences

So I have been wanting to post a new blog for a few days, but have been uncertain as to how to go about it, as every time I proofread it I just exit the window because it seems to be gibberish. Mrs. Stausing once told me that only I shall know the truth of my penning, but when I looked at them they seemed like lies, that I could not put my feelings down on the proverbial piece of paper. I have been having quite a few mixed emotions lately, as milestones come and pass, as memories resurrect themselves then fade away again, to float to the top of my mind yet once again in the future. Some of these memories are pleasing, others not so much. I have been reflecting upon the decisions I have made in life, giving up a full ride scholarship to the University of Oklahoma to take a deployment based upon the fact that I was probably going to fail out the semester, but also based upon a feeling of loyalty, that if I said that I did not want to go (which I had the option to do due to my scholarship) that I would never be able to look myself in the mirror again without feeling disdain, seeing the disgust in my eyes at myself for being, not necessarily afraid, but hesitant to do my duty, my part in this period of history. The experiences that I have had over the past sixteen or so months will be with me for the rest of my life, the good and bad, the memories of life and death, of times of happiness and times of sadness, of the feelings of loneliness and the feeling of being surrounded by those who love you, who would lay down their lives for you. I do not claim to be well acquainted with death, but we are friends of friends, as the names of the fallen continue to get longer, there are a few on that list that I knew. When I am in the airport or at home and in uniform and someone comes up to thank me, I feel embarrassed, as if I do not deserve their thanks, as I have done nothing, that the people they really should be thanking are in a box that once had a flag draped over it. That my sacrifices pale in comparison to theirs. My sacrifices involved parting with my loved ones for a year and a half. Their sacrifices are more permanent, the scars that they left are deep, and can never be healed. I can go home and start my life again, they can't. I do not feel as if there is anything else I can say that would have any impact on this post, so for now I shall leave it at this.

Stocks

So I recently put a little money into the stock market, and by little, I mean there are people who trade stock that would laugh at me if I told them the value of my portfolio. They may stop laughing after I told them how much I have made as to what I put in (I have had a 50% increase in value in month and a half...) I have been doing all of my own trades through my bank. There are three or four of us over here who trade actively, and we help each other out with picks. I currently own Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, TXCO Resources, AIG, and Sirius Radio. I also own 16,000 shares of a company that trades for less than a tenth of a cent, and am losing on (don't worry, I only have $12 invested into that stock...) But, allow me to rant for a few minutes here. I owned 20 shares of a company called Las Vegas Sands. They are a casino company that owns the Sands in Vegas among other casinos. They plan on opening two more casinos worldwide in a few years. I bought them at about $4 and sold at $4.50. My guys here that share stock tips all followed suit, as we saw it stuck in a rut. Since then, the stock has passed $11 and has no foreseeable roof. Analysts are predicting between $20-40... Does anyone else here feel like I killed some very nice profits? I am not too worried about it, but wish I had not sold. This is the largest bain of the investor, when to buy and when to sell. One can always wait for it to go higher, but the only way to assure your profit is to sell when you KNOW you have one. The market is a very volatile thing, and can drop and rise very quickly. If anyone wants the symbols for these stocks or my reasonings for buying them, drop me an email at loranh2000@gmail.com... Until next time, here is to hoping my stock continues to rise...

Time waster

As one sits at his computer and attempts to write a blog to update the world (or maybe just the three people who read his blog,) thoughts take their toll on his young mind. So much to do, so little time. In a few weeks I will turn the milestone, and become 21. The issue here is that I will be turning 21 in a dry country where you are ordered by the military not to drink. Dry counties are cool, just drive across county line. But dry countries? What the hell is wrong with you guys??? Next up we have the $900 to pull four teeth bill coming up. It is one of those things were you just have to grin and bear it. You don't want to do it, but you know sooner or later you are going to have to, so just get it out of the way... I received a phone call the other day telling me I needed to do paperwork that was due five days ago, so I have been busting my ass trying to get that done. Tracking these people down and getting the information from them is not an easy task. Next, I have good news, and that is the fact that I am short timed. That is an army term meaning that I am about to GTFOH, which is another army term that I will translate on a case by case basis upon request. A ballpark figure is something around three months, which is a relatively short time, considering I have been overseas for 15 months now, and on active duty orders for over 18, I shall be excited to come home. I have submitted an active duty packet and hope that gets approved. If it is, I shall be off again as soon as I come home. Hopefully they will give me a little down time before I deploy again, but we all know it is part of the job... This was really a rant session and not anything of substance, and I apologize for making you waste your time and reading it. Until next time...

Waxing Philosophical

So lately, I have been looking back and reflecting upon the choices in my life. Are they true to myself as well as true to others? Remaining true to oneself is the single most important thing that you can ever do. You can lie to others as much as you want, but the minute you begin lying to yourself you have just set yourself down a road which there is no turning back. I guess after that statement I should stop telling myself I am sexy... Dang it... Alas, I digress and need to get back to the actual subject. I have noticed that over the past two years in a combat zone that my typing skills have greatly improved. I guess wars cannot go on without cooks who can type and do admin jobs. I digress yet once more. Have I been true to myself in all my choices, telling myself that my decisions in life have been the correct ones? It seems as if everyday things come to light that make me believe I have been misleading myself, trying to make everything seem as if it is ok, when in reality it isn't. I realize that there isn't much I can do with all of this stuff whilst being 8000 miles away, but it still does nothing to help the absolute sense of helplesness. My mothers water heater went out, and I offered to get her a new one, but she is too stubborn, too resilient to be offered a handout and accept it. That is not the true issue at hand, but it is one of the smaller issues that compound and seem to make the larger issue worse. The world is spinning out of control and I don't know how to fix it. Maybe I never did, but at least once I thought I did. All of those false imaginings are now gone and I see the world for what it is. Something that I have no control over. We cannot correct the choices we have made in life, we can only try to make better ones in the future. Am I going to make a better choice off of the lessons I have learned? History shows us that most likely, the answer is no. History seems to have a way of repeating itself with consequences that reach far beyond anything we might be able to imagine. The impact of man on the world amazes me, as we have become a civilization who at one time revered the earth, for it was the provider of life and sustainment, but now it appears to be an object of disdain. I am learning more and more life lessons everyday, but my question is will my next decision be the right one? What if it isn't? What happens next?

Stroll Down Memory Lane

I took a stoll down memory lane last night. As I was trying to fall asleep, a song by AFI came on. The song was a live rendition of "God Called in Sick Today." An excellent song, it brought back some rather fond memories. Mikka, my first girlfriend, introduced them to me. One day while we were hanging out, my parents decided it would be cool to go to some crazy restaraunt in Oklahoma. It was about an hour and a half drive, and Mikka had just gotten a new AFI CD and was wanting me to take a listen to them. We listened to them on the drive down, and I became fond of a few of their songs. It just took me back to the choices that I have made in life, and wonder if they have been the right ones. In retrospect, I feel that they have been correct. Even if they haven't been, I have no control over the choices I have already made. They are what they are, and I have to make the best of them. I dated Mikka for about nine months or so, and ended up breaking up with her to go out with Jennifer. I realize now that I broke up with her for all the wrong reasons, but realize now that it was probably one of my better choices in life. I broke up with Jennifer to go out with Melony, who is now the love of my life, and also my wife. Anyways, back to Mikka. Mikka's mother, Nickla, is a wonderful lady, and I still am very close to her and the rest of the family. I called Nic last night on a whim, and for once she actually answered. We talked about some of the memories that the song brought up, and we were talking about some of our memories. The music flooded me with memories and thoughts that I did not know that it would do. The memories were very mixed, with sadness and happiness. I am not sure that I loved Mikka, but I do know that at the time I loved her as much as a sixteen year old could love anyone. Nic made the comment that I was a peach and that she would give anything she had to have two just like me, one for each of her daughters. I realize that had I stayed with Mikka, I would not be where I am today, in the military and chasing dreams that I have had for as long as I can remember. When I was six, I told my parents I wanted to be a firefighter. I have always wanted to serve and help others, and I fell that I am doing that now. Mikka was always fun to hang out with, and we could talk for hours and never run out of things to talk about. Melony is the same way. When we started dating, we would talk for hours on the phone, and we are still that way. We average about 3000 minutes a month, so we are definately chatterboxes. I realize that even the smallest things can trigger memories, some fond, others not so fond. Until next time...