Knee Deep in the Hooah!

I know we are mostly familiar with the traditional story of the first Thanksgiving on record, but did you know that the story you are probably most familiar with is not the very first Thanksgiving? Isn’t it wonderful that the Founders of this great Country actually were so thankful that there was another day of Thanksgiving before the pilgrims had their first celebration?

Here’s the story you are probably most familiar with (From Pilgrim Hall Museum)

What has come down in American tradition as the “First Thanksgiving” was actually a harvest festival. In the spring of 1621, the colonists planted their first crops in Patuxet’s abandoned fields. While they had limited success with wheat and barley, their corn crop proved very successful, thanks to Squanto [Tisquantum] who taught them how to plant corn in hills, using fish as a fertilizer.

In October of 1621, the Pilgrims celebrated their first harvest with feasting and games, as was the custom in England, as well as prayer. The celebration served to boost the morale of the 50 remaining colonists and also to impress their allies. Among the Native People attending were Massasoit and 90 Wampanoag men. For more about the “First Thanksgiving,” click HERE.

Now read what some proud Virginians have to say about the claim that the pilgrims are the ones who celebrated the very first Thanksgiving:

Let Virginia promote the real first Thanksgiving

November 18, 2007 12:36 am

CHARLOTTESVILLE–Could Virginia’s Thanksgiving be the gift that keeps on giving? Yes. Maybe in more ways than one.

Never inclined to hide its history under a basket, Virginia completed this year a successful and rewarding commemoration of its origins 400 years ago at Jamestown. We received front-page coverage, not only in national publications, but also throughout the world.

Why? Because there are so many aspects of Virginia’s history–many uplifting and inspiring, others problematic and regrettable–that invite re-examination, discussion, and debate.

In other words, within Virginia’s long history–brave and fateful, good or bad–there are lessons for modern America about how we came to be and the consequences of historic choices. Virginia’s story offers insight and better understanding into our national narrative.

Yet one key feature of Virginia’s historic development–an early and important chapter–remains, if not neglected, insufficiently recognized.

I refer to the first Thanksgiving held in America. It took place on what is now the site of Berkeley Plantation in Charles City County. This giving of thanks took place on Dec. 4, 1619–or, as another way of looking at it, precisely one year and 17 days before the Pilgrims landed in New England, and 12 years after Jamestown’s founding.

The Pilgrims–more accurately, their latter-day marketers–would leave you with a different perception. In their telling, the runner-up gets top billing.

It is not supposition that brings one to the above conclusion. On Nov. 9, 1962, Virginia state Sen. John Wicker sent a telegram to President John F. Kennedy, taking issue with the previous year’s Presidential Thanksgiving Proclamation. Wicker claimed he already had proved to the governor of Massachusetts the validity of Virginia’s claim to the first Thanksgiving by the simple expedient of hauling out the records.

Read the rest of the story HERE

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I am not talking about the 1960’s Spencer Tracy movie that was dealing with race relations. I am talking about an unwanted guest. I am talking about a visitor who showed up tonight, not welcomed — he is unwanted, and he is deeply hated.

We had a pretty laid back day today. My son is tired and he pretty much stayed around the house with me all day. We watched a movie. We chatted some. We raked leaves into a pile that is sadly beginning to look surmountable to Mt. Fuji. We laughed some and we yawned at times too. Emma was in the middle of it all. She would run, jump, play and scatter the leaves as we worked, collected and gathered them. It was a beautiful day here, weather wise. Maybe this is why I was taken off guard when our unwanted guest showed up for dinner.

Tonight I made one of his top ten favorites. I have everything I need to make several of his favorites while he is home. I think that this is something that almost all military moms do when their soldier comes home from war. We feed them. We watch them and we feed them. I guess that is really just about all we can do at the moment. So, I was working on getting the preparations done for the big family dinner and I noticed my soldier’s demeanor change quickly. He went from being interactive to very sullen and withdrawn. He walked toward the kitchen after a while and I could see it on his face. Grief. It was then that I knew that our night was going to be interrupted by this rude and unwanted company. He had just received bad news from Iraq.

Three soldiers are dead. One is a friend and one is an acquaintance. He made an effort to sit and eat with us, but he could only go through the motions. He excused himself, and we all understood. He’s sleeping now and that’s good. All I could do is tell him how sorry I am for what has happened. He knows it. This is not the first loss he has had to face, but I pray it be the last.

I went through the motions myself tonight. I feel a little disconnected. I didn’t know if I should gently place my dishes in the dishwasher, or throw them through the kitchen window. I chose the route that allowed me to exercise that self-control muscle. So, here I sit blogging. He’s asleep and I am blogging and tonight three families are devastated beyond belief. Damn it.

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I found this over at Butterfly Wife’s blog, and I wanted to spread the word here.

Here’s a quick paragraph from “The Giving Thanks Campaign”

This holiday season, America Supports You is giving you a new way to send your thanks to the troops - by text message! When you send your message of thanks to 89279 (TXASY) between November 17th and 22nd, you’ll receive a special thanks in return. Also, we’ll be displaying those messages on our ASY Giving Thanks widget far and wide across the internet. Just another way that you can support our brave military men and women serving in 177 countries across the world.

And, below is the link to the article where I found out about the campaign.

The Life and Times of a Butterfly Wife: Giving Thanks …

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Well it has been a simply glorious day here at Hooah! Central. I am still missing a pair of boots, but those boots are on American soil, so I at least know I have them both on the same continent! It’s a very nice feeling, to say the least.

I have had a great day with my son. I have just enjoyed being able to look across the table and see him sitting there. Every time he walks into the room it’s like I am seeing him for the first time again. You know, I lost my composure at the airport. I am normally a stoic, but when he hugged me and I finally realized in my brain what was taking place, my emotions went into hyper-drive and kidnapped my stoic resolve. I was a puddle. It was awesome. He is awesome!

We are now settling into our first night here at home as a reunited family. I am hoping he will sleep. I am sure he is having to take in a lot, so I will be impressed if he can sleep much at all. I know that I can not when I am in an environment that is drastically different from one I have been accustomed to. Sure, he was born and raised here in America, but Iraq has been his home for over 7 months now. Not only has his internal clock shifted, but I would imagine that the sites, smells and sounds are all different — even if they are familiar in his mind, his senses will need a moment to catch up to the memory. It’s kind of like when you go back to your old hometown. You know where to drive and you remember the sites and landmarks, but for some reason they do not all match an exactness to the backdrop of your memory. It is almost a flat feeling when you hit reentry.

So, what’s it like having him home after 7 months of deployment? It’s surreal. I know he is here for such a short time, but I don’t want that to be the focus. I want to give him everything that he has missed out on, but I know I can’t. I am going to focus on enjoying him. Listening to his stories, listening to his music, and just enjoying the fact that he is here right now.

Do you know what makes a homecoming special? It’s just learning to breath. You take a deep breath in, and you exhale slowly… and then you look at him and steal a picture for your memory. See, unlike that incongruous between the actual physical location and the memory of a location that I talked about earlier, this picture will always superimpose beautifully over the original. You know why? It’s because locations we identify times in our life with — they only are a frame of reference and a point of orientation. Our soldiers, however, we carry in the deepest parts of our hearts. The imprint they leave is not one that time can erase, and it is a deeply embedded memory that can give you a little solace when he is gone again. Sweet relief, indeed.

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There is a package that arrived for me from overseas. He’s on US soil. He will be home soon, and I am leaving to go and pick him up. Sweet relief!

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So, another day and another dollar. I am here on Saturday morning waiting to hear from both of my soldiers. Mike is somewhere between here and there. He should be here today, hopefully. We’ll see. The best laid plans are for mice and men, but the biggest delays are created by bureaucracy.

I hope you all have a beautiful Saturday! Can you believe it is almost Thanksgiving!? Where did July through October go?

Talk about a time warp! The really weird thing for me is to go back through my archives on this blog. I remember writing those entries, and some of the days felt like they would last for an eternity — and here on the other end of time I have to wonder where the time went!

My first entry was titled “It’s all fun and games until someone gets deployed.” That was written the day that Mike landed in Kuwait. It was his 22nd birthday.

Here’s a small paragraph from that post:

I have learned one thing for certain through all of this — you really do not have a clue about the sacrifices of war, and the sacrifices of the military families around you until you have walked the walk. That doesn’t mean you can not be grateful for what they do, but I have never in my entire life struggled with the feelings of intense pride and fear all wrapped up into one bundle.

Oh boy, is that ever the truth. I will tell you though I am deeply blessed by the civilian families who show their support. For many, it is their own private mission to support our Military. It blesses me deeply to see their patriotism bring them to do the kindest acts toward our troops and their families. Check out Operation Gratitude for a shining example. It’s beautiful to behold. It truly is.

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I am eagerly anticipating the arrival of my son for his 18 days of leave. I am already braced for the time because I know it will all happen fast and furious, and I will be saying good-bye before I am ready. As if a mom is ever “ready” to say good-bye when her son is leaving for a battle zone.

I have been thinking long and hard about him the past few days. Well, really since he left for Iraq back in April, but more so recently. I talked with him on a pretty regular basis when he first arrived in Iraq. The first few months seemed almost “normal” in a very weird way. He would work his shifts and then we could chat on the phone or through IM for a little while. We talked about as much then as we did when he was in the States. It was shortly after the surge was complete that he and I lost contact for a while.

The days were long. I am not wanting to be overly dramatic, but in all honesty there were a handful of days that were downright agonizing. While he was working in the surge in a very battle ridden area, I too was having a surge of my own. A surge of fear, anxiety and dread — and a surge of deep grief. The surge of silence from him was deafening. The news in the beginning seemed encouraging some days, and scary on others. That is when we would get any. There were so many Operations going on that were kept under wraps (and for that I am grateful not begrudging a bit!) and so I never knew really what he was doing. The first few phone calls were brief. He was preoccupied and flat out told me he was focused on work, but he couldn’t talk about it so he was just calling to say “Hi, I’m alive. Love you. Bye.” In a very ironic way it would be no different than a doctor or a therapist, who are sworn to confidentiality, being preoccupied with a patient that they can’t talk about. Small talk is fun with strangers… it’s awkward with loved ones.

So, I survived, and I managed to deal with the emotions. Really I dealt with them by letting them out. I cried. I screamed into a pillow a few times. I blogged about it. I exercised like I was training for the Olympics, and first and foremost I prayed. I prayed for his safety with nearly every breath. It felt more natural to pray for that than it did to eat or sleep. I prayed for his physical safety and for mercy — that he would be spared anything that would wound his mind or his conscience beyond healing. I still pray for that.

It’s an odd bend in the road on this journey in life when your son goes to war. You, as a parent, are left behind to tend to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Your progeny is out fighting while you are home doing what you always do — with the added role of morale builder, prayer warrior and package packer/sender. I know I have said this in past posts, but it’s just not natural. That doesn’t mean it’s not right, but it just goes against the natural instinct of a parent to want to protect and give to their kids — and now the roles in that regard are somewhat reversed. It’s a far cry from the anxiety you felt when you let go of his bike for the first time when he was learning to ride it without training wheels.

I am not sure what all has changed. I am still waiting to see him, look at him, and hear his voice. I think I will know right then and there if things have changed somewhere deep inside of him. He will always be the young man I raised to me, but he has entered a realm of his manhood in a zone where only other young men are allowed to go. He has lived through things with them, his fellow soldiers, that his very own family will not fully understand. We simply can’t. All we can do is trust that he will tell us what he needs, and I pray he can trust that we will do the best we can to ensure that he gets it.

I guess life happens when your son goes to war. Like it or not you can not stop the changes from occurring. You can not freeze time, nor can you prevent change in yourself. No matter what you do to prepare you both will walk away from this experience different people. I guess we can only pray that we walk away stronger and better than we were before.

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I had an epiphany (the realization and not the sandwich, P.) on the way back from my morning school drop. The sun is peeking out, the colors are still vibrant and the temperatures are mild today. My house is clean, my bills are paid, and my business is taken care of, so I am taking the day off.

I am not going to the gym today. I had a particularly hard workout yesterday and I am sore. So, today I am going to pick a place to go, pack up my Curly Headed Pirate and us girls are going to have some fun.

Of course the fun we seek will be geared toward toddlers, so maybe a day at a nearby museum that is designed for kids to touch, play and interact with all of the exhibits. Then lunch and then home for a nap. We may wind up at a petting zoo in the Country and then we will take a trip over to the small whole foods store in that area that I love so much. They sell awesomely fresh food — and Emma actually enjoys going because she can pick a piece of chocolate candy out of a basket there.

Whatever we wind up doing I am sure it will be fun. The object today is to get a break — not a break from the baby, but a break with her. Ultimately if she is having fun and enjoying herself then I am more relaxed anyway. So, here’s to an enjoyable Fall day. I hope you all have an equally pleasant day whatever this Thursday has in store for you.

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