Knee Deep in the Hooah!

I know there are those who believe no blessing can be found in combat, war, and turmoil. I am of the mindset that there is something we are obligated to learn regardless of our circumstances. Suffering in this life is inevitable — learning is optional. What can a mother learn, or perhaps remember in a new light, about her soldier when he is facing peril on the battlefield? This is a good place to start if you are looking for blessings.

Maybe she will look through his baby pictures and compare his younger pictures to his most recent one. Then she will try and remember exactly at what point in his life did he become a soldier? I know the technical answer is after the successful completion of Basic Combat Training (BCT), but I mean when did his mind, heart and soul begin to realize that duty is a good thing, and protecting people you care about is a life that is worth living and a life worth giving?

She will learn in time that he is a grown man. He is much more grown than she was ever willing to admit in the past. He is competent, brave and has a work ethic that outshines many of his civilian counterparts. She remembers seeing him run cross country races in high school. She also remembers his coach telling her time and time again that for her son’s build (very stocky) he should not be able to run like he does. “He has a heart for it!” his coach exclaimed. “Yes, indeed he does” she quietly remembers.

She may get an occasional rare glimpse into the hopes that are buried deep in his heart. They are hopes he can not quite bring himself to speak of at this time. Hopes he has for a wife and children some day. Hopes he has for coming home from this war and resting in the knowledge that he did good work, and he was able to complete his mission. She remembers hearing his hopes when he was little that were pie-in-the-sky and were based on boyhood fantasies. His hopes of today sound more like the same hopes she had at that age.

If she listens closely during phone calls, she will hear exhaustion, fear, paranoia and other deep stresses that he tries to protect her from. She knows him too well to not notice the intensity and fatigue on the other line. She is in the relative safety of her home, and he is in the midst of those who seek to kill him — yet, he is still sensitive to her worries. It is much like the conversations he used to start, as a young teenager, with the phrase “Mom, I hate to bug you, but I need to talk.” One day when he is a father he will know that it is never an imposition, but rather it is a blessing to get to be the one to support your child.

She will see him transform while he is deployed. He may even get a little crusty around the edges. Kind of like a tougher layer of crust that forms to protect the more vulnerable inside, he may develop a sharper edge to him too. She saw the same thing occur when he developed that wry sense of sarcasm that he is so infamous for.

Reading will become her favorite past time. She won’t read novels about romance, science fiction or decorating her home. She may after a while, but right away? More than likely, no. She will read all she can about the place her son will be calling home for the next 12 or more months. She will remember getting to know the parents of his friends when he was much younger, so that her mind could rest. This time, though, she will not find comfort or rest in the knowledge she gains. Instead what she learns will haunt her until he is home for good.

When my son was in middle school there were two incidents that I recall most vividly around that time in his development. The first incident took place in 7th grade. His first dance was announced and he was excited to go. He was (and in my opinion still is) a pretty handsome guy, and was also fairly popular. When he showed up at the dance, a few friends were already there. A young boy was also there, and he was “Educable Mentally Retarded.” That is the professional term, but to make it easy just think “high functioning retardation.” Mike felt protective of the young boy at the very beginning of the school year. His name was John, and he picked up on Mike’s sense of understanding and empathy right away. John followed Mike around quite a bit throughout the school year. Mike didn’t mind. When the dance music started that night, John decided he wanted to dance. It did not matter to him that he was alone and without a dance partner. It should not have mattered to anyone, but some kids had become hurtful and they shamed John off of the dance floor with stabbing remarks, morbid mocking, and cruel names.

Mike became furious at their cruelty. He stood up to his friends that night and reminded them “We are at a dance. John is the only one dancing. You are standing here acting like jerks. To think they call HIM the retarded one!” Yes, even back then he was not afraid to speak his mind. Mike stayed until John’s mom got there to pick him up and then he called me to come and get him. Even though Mike was furious when this happened he kept his composure and dealt with the matter at hand. Nothing more, nothing less. I think he was becoming a soldier then, but we just didn’t know it yet.

I also think he was becoming a soldier the day that a buddy of his pounced jokingly on him right before 1st period. They had been in wrestling earlier in school together. When his friend knocked him to the ground he accidentally broke Mike’s shoulder! Mike had a huge test in computer that morning in 1st period. He put on a forced smile, hobbled to class wounded and sat at his desk. He took that test. He had an obligation to fulfill, and he was going to do it come hell or high water! When he answered the final question he went up to his teacher and said “I need my mom to come and get me. I am pretty sure I broke my shoulder.” His teacher was both mortified and extremely impressed! I took him into the doctor’s office immediately, and through x-ray examination it was evident that the child had taken his test with a very bad break. I can clearly see that he had another component of being a soldier instilled in him that day too.

I could tell you several stories about Mike standing up to bullies, fulfilling his obligations, and yes some stories of him being imperfect and not doing those things too. He’s human. I could tell you of his very strong convictions around justice, and his deep sense of loyalty. I guess ultimately I can point to many things that molded him into someone who can make a difference in the world at a time when it is desperately needed. Blessings abound when you stop and think back on all of the things your son did while he was growing up that was evidence of an inner-being developing into a servant, a leader, and a soldier.

I would like to think that the way his cradle was rocked had a little something to do with it too.

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

Blessings on the hand of women!

Angels guard its strength and grace,

In the palace, cottage, hovel,

Oh, no matter where the place;

Would that never storms assailed it,

Rainbows ever gently curled;

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy’s the tender fountain,

Power may with beauty flow,

Mother’s first to guide the streamlets,

From them souls unresting grow–

Grow on for the good or evil,

Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission

Here upon our natal sod!

Keep, oh, keep the young heart open

Always to the breath of God!

All true trophies of the ages

Are from mother-love impearled;

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!

Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,

And the sacred song is mingled

With the worship in the sky–

Mingles where no tempest darkens,

Rainbows evermore are hurled;

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

William Ross Wallace (1819-1881)

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