Knee Deep in the Hooah!

It was a long night last night. The baby wouldn’t stay asleep, my leg was aching — some kind of pulled something or other from my run yesterday, and my mind was full of thoughts of my Soldier. I always miss him, but there are times when the emptiness from his missing presence in this Country is more pronounced — no it screams. I know he is working quadruple time these days. I worry about him of course — and pray for him nearly as often as I blink.Last night before we went to bed Mr. H., asked me what was wrong. I told him that I was just blue and missing Mike and that I was very worried for him. Mr. H., said “Yeah, I know. I can’t wait until he is home again. I can’t wait until his feet are here back in the US.” It’s strange because we do not normally talk much about how much we miss Mike or how much we worry for him — not in actual discussions. We normally talk about our memories of him from when he was home or what he may be doing or may be up to on a given day depending on the news, and we also often chat about the future with him.

We talk about him everyday and several times a day, but I don’t normally allow myself to drift into talking about how much I really, truly miss him. It’s just too hard to chat about without leaving me feeling flat. It leaves me feeling like my boot straps (you know the ones I am famous for pulling myself up by) have been removed. Maybe this is home front battle fatigue, I don’t know. What I do know is this is a sadness that can easily become consuming if you don’t discipline your thoughts. It’s a lot like the deployment itch I talked about last year.

One thing that stirred up my feelings of missing Mike was hearing his response to the news that his little brother, Nate, wants to join. Nate is a handful of days shy of 17. He has been talking a lot about wanting to join the Reserves and doing the delayed entry program. He originally was going to do ROTC or an Academy. His JROTC Major says he is definitely Academy material. For whatever reason Nate decided that he wanted to join and do it ASAP.

Bryan and I both have been encouraging him to really think about his options and the long term benefits and drawbacks to joining now versus going on to college first. Neither of us are against him joining, nor are we for it — we both want him to make an informed and aware decision. It’s that simple. We also told him that he really needed to talk with his older brother about this, and Mike wanted to talk with Nate about it as well. We both know that Nate really looks up to Mike — Nate always has. Mike was Nate’s male role model during their time growing up — single parenting was hard, but Mike really took the role of caring for Nate in a fraternal way. The two of them have always had a good big-brother-little-brother relationship. Of course they both love their other brother, Noah, but when it comes to asking for or following advice we knew that Nate would listen to Mike. We also know that Mike will give Nate sound advice.

When Mike talked with him, I could tell that Nate was hearing information that he really didn’t want to hear… not that it was bad, but it was contrary to what he thought Mike might say and what Nate wanted to hear. Mike, of course, was brutally honest with Nate about deployment and about enlisted life. He did not romanticize or glorify it, nor did he maim it and hack it up to make it sound worse than it is. He told him the naked truth. Mike’s reaction was very parental.

Mike’s thoughts on Nate entering the Reserves are what surprised me. I knew his actions and thoughts would be protective and caring in nature — the way he has always been with Nate, but he had memories of Nate as a young child. He remembered the little boy who was horribly homesick one year during Summer camp, and Mike needed to be called to the kiddie cabin to comfort him. I could tell that Mike had a sense of dread when he imagined that same little boy going off to war — being sent to Iraq and seeing and experiencing what Mike is seeing and experiencing right now. Mike has a harder disadvantage than I do because he does not have the luxury of only imagining what war is like — he knows about it intimately. He doesn’t have to “only imagine” what Nate may go through, he can see Nate’s face on the soldier’s around him, and in his own face as well.

When I think of Mike’s reaction and his actions toward Nate it makes me feel a deep sense of pride and, once again, it reminds me of what a strong, capable, and mature man he is — the only “boyness” that is left for Mike is in my memory of that time. It’s a memory that I will always cherish.

When I think of Mike going off to war I too have tender memories of a little boy who needed me to care for him. War causes a time warp for families. So much changes in such a small period of time, and a very important part of your family is put on hold. Age and maturation, however, can not be paused. Little boys grow up fast when wars are waged. The lazy seasons of times past no longer gently fade into a memory, but rather they are a stark and cruel contrast to the season currently lived.

Mike, you should know that Nate told us a few nights ago that he has decided to delay joining. He has considered your advice and has decided to stay the course and apply to various colleges.

Tags: Army, Shack Pack news, combat, deployment, family life, military, updates, veterans, war on terror, worry by Claire
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Note from Claire: Do you all know how hard it’s been to be quiet for an entire day? No blog entries… no comment responses? I am coping, but just barely! ;) I am glad you all enjoyed the first part of Mr. Hooah!’s story. Today he is posting the second half that will take you through the rest of BCT. I will resume regular (boring… haha!) blogging through out the weekend and then return to the rest of his story on Monday morning.

Following the reception at 30th AG we were moved “down range” to our BCT unit where I met the soldiers I would be living with for the next nine weeks. We were all in for another “shock & awe” exercise. After marching down the road about a mile or so we arrived in our new home away from home. Hanson Barracks. Upon arrival in the CTA (Common Training Area) we were given a couple of quick tasks to perform to standard, but in less time than was humanly possible to accomplish said tasks. Our new First Sergeant was on a PA system while our new Drill Instructors had (you guessed it) bull horns. We were expected to fail. I knew that. Some of the kids did not. Myself and the other older guys did not react so much this time. The younger guys did. When the First Sergeant called out, “Did the recruits accomplish their mission to standard?” to which the Drill Instructors replied in unison, “NO!!” the games began and the looks were priceless.

The phrase we had to repeat over, and over, during corrective training was, “Attention to detail; teamwork is key!” I will never forget that little catch phrase. Moreover, it actually does have some applicability to a successful military life. Too bad it is so tied to memories of push-ups. Oh well.

I don’t remember how we got there, but at one point we found ourselves upstairs in our new barracks toeing the line (literally there is a line painted around the floor of the open sleeping area were we all stand shoulder to shoulder in front of our bunks, toes on the line) with our forty five pound duffle bags held up straight above our heads. Meanwhile our new keepers strode around the area yelling, barking questions, and trying to evaluate us based on when or if we gave up trying to hold that bag over our heads. “Whose gonna quit? Who wants to go home? Are you a quitter? Are you a momma’s boy? Whaa, wha, wha, wanna go home. Wha, wha, wha, want my mom. Wha, wha, wha, want your ,” was the fare for the day.

One of the young men made a huge mistake at that time. He decided to “take one for the team.” He told us later, ” I was sweating bullets like blood, my arms were shaking, I couldn’t go on … then it occurred to me … if someone quits the Drills will get what they want and go on to a different game.” He was wrong of course. All he accomplished was getting singled out. He called out, ” I quit Drill Sergeant!” while dropping that duffle bag. It was like sharks on chum for those Drill Sergeants. They were around him so fast and verbally on him so furious that we were all shocked. I half expected to see their eyes roll up into the back of their head for the attack. Of course they couldn’t touch him and they didn’t. Heh. Too bad he didn’t know that.

Later the guy admitted the lesson he learned that day was “NEVER take one for the team.” I put it to him like this, “Never quit, never give up, and always help the guy next to you to do likewise.” I think the kid learned a good lesson.

Other fun things happened during basic. Our First Sergeant ran the pace van out of gas one day. We looked at him. He looked at us. First Sergeants are never wrong — even when they’re wrong. We got to push the van into the refueling station for him. Lucky us.

I should probably take the time to describe the First Sergeant. He was a good looking young man. In his early thirties you could tell he was a hard worker and very skilled. The First Sergeant liked to make out as if he were an intellectual. He wasn’t. He attempted to use a Socratic method when instructing the young Privates. The kids didn’t know that he wasn’t pulling it off very well, but I did. In spite of that I would say he had all the right attributes to become a great First Sergeant someday (based on what I’ve learned about First Sergeants since my time at BCT) but I was always of the opinion that he had been promoted too soon. I think that played into his acting smarter than he really was. He was trying to play up to the part. He needed more “seasoning.”

The only higher up that I wish I could have spent more time with than the First Sergeant was the Company Commander. He too was a young man. As a Captain who graduated West Point he was a pretty boy who always tried to overcome his pretty boy image by adding much swagger and bravado to his “style”. (Hey, it’s an old man’s right to critique the younger men … even if they do out rank him!) During my BCT cycle the Captain became a short timer. Seems he had decided to leave the Army for a higher paying career in Corporate America. I hear a lot of West Pointers are doing that these days. Too bad. Certain Drill Sergeants loved, loved, loved to suck up to him. I was never really sure if he caught on to what they were doing or if he was just ignoring it.

A handful of Drill Sergeants always made an opportunity to talk with me, but they maintained the rules about fraternizing with the Recruits. Once and a while one of the Drills would put me on late night fire watch just so he could come by and chat without breaking the rules. On one hand it was a compliment, but on the other hand I sure did miss that sleep.

I learned a lot in basic training. More than making a bunk goes into basic soldiering.

Here’s something some of the guys will understand; the feeling of exhilaration the first time you blow a tank apart all by your lonesome, and the realization that you are being paid good money to spend all day at a shooting range. Just think of it, you get up, work out, eat, go shoot different weapons using various techniques, eat, shoot some more, eat again, shower, clean weapons, go to bed, and then get up again the next day to do it all over again. Wow. I honestly couldn’t believe I was getting paid good money for this! I wonder if Congress knows about this? If they did I’m sure they would consider it a waste of money.

By the way, I never told the Sergeants when I had fun. They would have just figured out a way to make it into torture. I think that was their job.

We shot all the major U.S. weapons. The M16 (we carried one everywhere we went), M4, M203 grenade launcher, M249 machine gun, AT-4 anti-tank weapon (we ooohed and aaahed over that one — it made the Drills laugh — there is something incongruent about a laughing Drill Sergeant), M-240-B machine gun, and my personal favorite the MK-19 machine gun (which shot grenades; not bullets) all provide major personal fire power. You won’t find these at your local gun range. The modern American Soldier has more lethal fire power in his personal arsenal than did legions of armies in the ancient world. This is another good argument for instilling “total control” into a young soldier.

I was pegged for leadership early on. It was not uncommon for me to have 10, 20 or 40 “sons” at any given time. I was probably the only universally respected man in our platoon. For reasons beyond my understanding (even now) I could get those boys to do things that they might not otherwise consider. That’s probably another reason my Senior Drill Instructor liked me. I made his job a little easier. I promised myself that I would always make my boss’s job easier where ever I went in the Army. It served me well later on in OCS.

The Lt. Colonel commanding BCT also took a liking to me. I was very physically fit, well disciplined, and mentored many of the kids. The Colonel loved to see older guys excel. He was the only guy anywhere close to my age. My physical fitness first caught his eye. Then one day while standing in line to get my food, the good Colonel came thru the line with a civilian visitor. While passing by he paused to point me out to the civilian, “Here is one of our older recruits,” then to me, “Where is your pacemaker soldier?” I replied, “My drill sergeant is my pacemaker, sir!” He choked laughing; turning to the visitor he said, “That’s the kind of reply you only get from a mature recruit.” From that day on he kept up with me; even while I was away at OCS. We still inquire after one another to this day. Turns out he’s a big goof ball, like me. Who knew?

Which brings me to another point. While it is true that I had to put up with some sadistic jerks at every level of school I attended, it is also true that I have never in my life experienced such camaraderie as I experienced in the Army. I hate to admit it, but I’ve never even had this level of fraternity in the Church. Anywhere and everywhere I went while in the Army I had instant brothers. They didn’t know me from Adam, but they would do anything for me, and I for them. I really can’t explain the depth of the bond. You have to live it. While I love my family and church — I miss my fellow soldiers. If this is how I feel after only being thru training with them, what must that bond be like after ’seeing the elephant’?

I had the opportunity in BCT to do many other first time things for myself. I got to repel, climb rope bridges of various sorts, run several different kinds of obstacle courses (I love, love, love obstacle courses! I couldn’t get enough of them.), and participate in many team building events. My senior drill believed in, was good at, and taught physical fitness such that our platoon won nearly every physical event hands down. It was almost a clean sweep that cycle.

Strangely, while I was taking my training at various fields, ranges, and courses, I was haunted by the thought that I was walking ground my own eldest son had walked only a year prior. I kept thinking, “How did Michael do on this event? I wonder how he felt at this course? Am I marching in my son’s foot steps?” A year prior to my enlistment my wife and I attended Michael’s graduation at Sand Hill. That was my first real introduction to Ft. Benning. If you had told me then that I would be graduating from the same training camp just about a year later — I would have laughed in your face. Old men don’t do those things. Lesson learned. You can NEVER predict the future.

Here’s another lesson I learned, “Be careful of your command voice”. What you say while using a command voice is important. Joe Blow soldier may be a great guy who is well trained, but he is generally dumb when under stress. I don’t mean this in a bad way. I’m saying in an adrenaline pumping situation (real or simulated) most humans react to authority in one of two ways. Either they freeze or they follow literally. By literally, I mean just that. They become literalists. They follow word for word. So you have to be very careful and clear with what you say. I made the mistake of yelling, “follow me” at my squad while moving thru an objective during a training exercise. They were pretty excited. I couldn’t figure out why the Drill Sergeant was displeased until I turned around and saw my squad literally following me like a line of little ducklings! They should have been online with me to my left and to my right — not directly behind me. Oops! In their minds that’s what I said to do. “Follow me!” So they did it.

Another time, after moving thru an objective, I was getting my ammo, casualty, and enemy report together only to be chewed out for leaving a man behind. I contended that my count was accurate until it was pointed out to me that a man at the end of my perimeter was not actually a part of my squad. He had gotten lost from his group during the exercise and decided to join my group when he heard me shouting out commands. I didn’t know he was there because from the back he looked just like my missing man. Same height, build, and everything. My man was actually killed back at the objective.

I had miscounted my men after all. Great. Now I have to send two men back to find my missing man. In the meantime the Drill Sergeants decided we had spent too much time on the objective and were getting ready to hit us with mortar fire. So I call out a distance and direction to bug out, only to find when we get there that I’ve acquired even more “Joes!” They were with another group, but when they heard me command they came running. I wasn’t specific about which group I was calling to and I paid the price. Be careful with your command voice. Be specific. “Keep it simple …stupid” … I now tell myself.

Of course BCT wasn’t all fun and games. There was a lot of boredom for a guy my age. If you are of any maturity level at all most of the “games” and “lessons” have already been learned. Too bad I couldn’t just get my check mark and move on. There were a lot of really bad things I could talk about. I won’t. It is enough to say that BCT is partly a hazing process that sucks. ‘Nuff said. I will mention these things for the curious. Not being able to talk to my wife for more than five minutes over a nine week period really stunk. Everybody cries at least once at BCT. Homesickness comes and goes. I was so immersed in BCT that I forgot what my own daughter’s voice sounded like. Memories of home faded. Faces of people I knew faded. The two minute shower drills & cleanliness inspections were embarrassing (those of you who know what that is understand. For you others, you’ll just have to figure it out for yourselves. I’m not telling.).

The cultural immersion takes to some degree or another on every potential soldier depending upon his personal strength of personality, or on how self centered he is. Some of the kids changed dramatically during BCT. Others, not so much. But we all had to play the game to get out. Over all, I’ll go with what one of my drills said, “See that graduation field boys? That’s the fastest way off of Sand Hill.” He was right. I knew a few guys who tried to get out of BCT some other way. They were still there when I graduated. Poor souls.

Now, looking back, I’m glad I went thru basic at my age. I’m pleased that the Lord blessed me with success there. It was quite an accomplishment — particularly at my age. It most certainly was not the worst mistake of my life as I had thought it was on my first night. But if you told me, today, that I had to go back and do it all over again, I would punch you in the mouth. I’ll never do that again.

On the day of graduation one of my favorite Drill Instructors became human. He was finally able to relate to me as an adult. The day I got on the bus to be sent to the other side of Ft. Benning for OCS I waved to him hoping he would take my advice and go to OCS himself. I have to wonder what ever happened to him. He would have made a great Commissioned Officer.

Finally, after long last, I am on my way to the Officer Candidacy School! This is what I came here for. No more kids to have to watch after. No more Drill Sergeants with whom the boundaries were always changing. No more mind numbing tasks just to keep busy. No more pointless group punishments or smoke sessions. Finally, everything will have purpose, maturity, and depth. Or … will it?

Tags: Army, military by Mr_Hooah
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Claire’s Note: I really did not have to edit much of Mr. Hooah!’s post. I hope you enjoy it, and stay tuned. I had to find somewhere to cut in so that the entry was not too long. We may have around 3-4 sections, and those will be posted on subsequent work days. The first piece is a general overview of his reaction to BCT. Also, please feel free to ask any questions you may have in the comments section of the post.

Mr.Hooah!’s memoirs …

Or Psalm 18, verse 34, “He teacheth mine hands to fight …”

Or … “What I did on my summer vacation”.

Or … well, you get the point.

Part I.

My wife has invited me to be a guest blogger writing a short (how short?) series covering my time from entry into the Army via Sand Hill, Ft. Benning, up until the time I left OCS HHC due to an injury. I’m not a writer, so I’ll write the story out, and I will ask her to edit. She has worked so hard to have a good blog that I dare not mess it up. Not unless I like sleeping on a couch. I give this information from my own personal perspective of my experience in BCT and OCS. I am not speaking for the United States Army or any branch of the Armed Services. These are my opinions, expressly, blah, blah, and all that legal stuff. Additionally, I warn you that I run the risk of sounding like one long recruitment ad. So, as Colonel Hati from Jungle Book might say, “I remember when I was in the Maharajah’s third pack-ee-derm … ah those were the days …discipline, discipline was the key …”

In the very early months of 2007 (February/March), after lengthy personal training, I was accepted into the active Army with an age waiver firmly in hand. A few months later, in the Spring, I left to enter the Army’s Officer Candidacy School (OCS) in order to gain a commission as a Second Lieutenant — intending to become a leader in the greatest Army ever to march on the face of this earth. Too bad I had to attend Basic Combat Training (BCT) first — yes, at the age of forty years old I had to go to boot camp. Yikes. There are many who think I am crazy to have done this. My sanity is still in question, but three battalion coins, several certificates, and one medal of achievement later … my ability to accept and excel in military training is evident.

I do not talk about my achievements in BCT or OCS arrogantly. At least I don’t intend to. I know, if I never did before, that all such blessings come from God and God alone. I was not the only soldier deserving of awards and recognition at Delta Company‘s BCT graduation. There were young soldiers who also had many great qualities and competencies who did not receive any recognition other than that of graduating to the next level of military training. I know that each cycle of BCT can only allow for so much recognition, but the Company I graduated with was not short on its pick of good soldiers. I accepted the recognition and the awards on behalf of myself and the chances I had to work hard to earn them, and on behalf of the young men there who were exceptional soldiers yet had also become my brothers though they were half my age.

Sometimes I think my recognition was more accurately characterized as “the geezer award” than anything else. Something I was awarded for being the oldest BCT survivor. It’s not everyday that “Father Time” (the nickname of choice by my Senior Drill Sergeant) comes through the gates at Sand Hill and lives to tell about it. So to speak.

I was only gone a little over six months at Ft.Benning. That’s not very long in most settings. Though it seemed a lifetime from my perspective. This is partly due to the length of the work day while in training. Normally a soldier in training works anywhere from 13 to 17 hours with an hour for lunch, and he works six or seven days a week in basic training and five to seven days in OCS. Six months of work time in a soldier’s training regiment is worth twelve months or more in the civilian world. In some respects if I feel and act as if I’ve been gone for a year … it‘s because I have. This partly explains why a man just out of the Army tends to define himself in military terms long after his time is done and in spite of having spent most of his life out of the army. A man lives a lot of life in a short period of time when serving his Country.

I look at that sort of work week and think that working from before the sun comes up until after the sun goes down for six days per week … well, it sure makes a day of rest look very, very, attractive. On the civilian side of life, five days of work at eight or nine hours per day (less in some corporations) with one day for play and then a day of rest … looks very, very, hedonistic. Now that I am out of training I find that my inclination toward hedonism is returning. Figures.

When I first arrived at Ft. Benning, I and a handful of others, sat in a waiting area until late at night when bus loads of other new recruits came trundling up. That’s when the fun began. I call it “shock & awe”. A lot of yelling, screaming, moving us about from place to place in order to get a short list of initial tasks done before they finally let us go to sleep. Sleep was allowed somewhere around two in the morning but we were woke up again at four in the morning to start the new day … with more yelling, running about, forcing to stay awake until the next evening. It is the beginning of how the Sergeants kick off total control and the indoctrination of new recruits.

Indoctrination is especially important for new recruits who are rebellious, undisciplined, or even a little criminal in behavior. They are, for the most part, kids between the ages of 17 and 20. There are some who for all of their lives have been spoiled, neglected, or abused by parents unfit to be named as such. Even the best kids from the best homes can still be self-centered, ill disciplined, and prone to individualism.

Our modern pop culture runs, for the most part, counter to the Army culture in that regard. The Army culture has developed slowly over the last couple hundred years. It works. We’re not the greatest Army in history by accident. Therefore I understand the need for total control and intense indoctrination. I understand the need for complete control and cultural immersion in this new thing for recruits called the Army, as well as the trauma needed to kick it off. However, intellectual understanding and experiential understanding are two different things. As I found out.

Believe me, no one was impervious to the psychological trauma of that evening — even myself. In spite of having an understanding, maturity and knowledge, I found myself reacting to the initial “shock and awe”. Just before we were released to go to sleep a Sergeant was screaming at me thru a bull horn … I remember thinking to myself, “My God, what have done? I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life. And I can’t take it back. ”

Every man I talked to later during basic training had the same reaction that night or one of the following nights. We all just had to laugh at ourselves. Especially us older guys.

We spent a handful of days processing into this thing the Army called 30th AG. We did a lot of paperwork, got our initial issue of equipment, and were given some initial training in how to walk, and how to talk, and how to be a regular soldier. Always lots of yelling, lots of running about, and lots of shock. We were even gently “smoked” a time or two just to get us used to the notion of corrective training.

Being smoked in training terms means doing physical training of some sort until muscle failure … or beyond. I found out that there are many, many, insidious ways to bring a man to muscle failure without him actually lifting any more than his own body weight … or even one limb.

The Sergeants at the in processing station are perpetually mad or at least pretend to be. We were not able to do anything right so we just got over it. One of the more humorous things to me was my dress. I arrived as a full grown professional adult dressed as an adult man should … khakis, polo, dress socks, and loafers. At one point in our uniform issue I found myself wearing physical training shorts, a t-shirt, and black old man socks with brown loafers. I looked ridiculous. If only I had a straw hat and some gardening equipment. Oh well. At least I didn’t have to do lawn maintenance out by the Bay with my @ss in the air. I had the privilege of staying that way for a day or more. Nothing like making a good first impression, eh?

I was always stopped where ever I went and asked by some incredulous Drill Sergeant (imagine an exaggerated double take), “How old are you private!?” I wasn’t even the oldest guy there. I guess I just looked older with my white walls (my hair is white at the temples). About half the drill sergeants then followed up with, “Why did you join the Army??” Some of the Sergeants were impressed, some thought I was crazy, most just made fun of me in such a way as to be pretty harmless. A few. A very few, took the opportunity to demean, embarrass, and humiliate me. Fortunately I’m too old to play that game.

I was not allowed to stand up for myself, of course. Later when I finally made it to my BCT unit God blessed me with a Senior Platoon Drill Sergeant who was well respected and knew how to be respectful and commanding. That man kept me from the majority of the belittlement as well as set me up for success. He taught me a lot. I would be extremely honored if he were ever to serve as one of my own NCO’s following commission. I know he knows how to take care of his soldiers. By contrast one of the Platoon Sergeants in our company was over another platoon that ended our BCT cycle as the most broken and physically unfit platoon. That Drill Sergeant did not know how to take care of his men. I learned from direct experience with both men that the NCO’s really do make or break a unit. Yep, our Drill Sergeant took care of us alright. He never had to be “soft” or “nice” to do it. He was more than competent. He was tough as nails. I’d gladly go to hell and back with him to this day.

Tags: Army, military by Mr_Hooah
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Starting tomorrow I am having a “guest blogger.” He is a former Officer Candidate who had a pretty severe fracture during the last part of his training in OCS. He is currently rehabilitating his leg and trying to navigate his way through the choices he has in regards to his future in the Army. He holds degrees in both the arts and the sciences, he has a wife (who is very wonderful… we’ll talk about that later ;) ) and a whole mess of kids who range in age from “legally able to order a beer” down to “apple-juice-drinking-crumb-snatcher.”

Yes, I am talking about the one, the only, Mr. Hooah! He will be here to chat about his adventures in BCT and OCS — this is his quintessential “What I Did On my Summer Vacation” presentation! You won’t want to miss a minute of it.

Other news on the home front today, Mr. Hooah! has started his own Cafepress shop to sell his original art work on items such as framed prints, note cards, and the like. If you get a moment, please take a peek:

Tags: Army Wife Posts, Mr. Hooah! Writes by Claire
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I borrowed the Disney movie “Pollyanna” from our Church’s library. As a young girl it was my favorite movie. I just loved the precocious and whimsical nature of the main character, as well as her infectiously cheerful disposition. I wanted Emma to see it, and at first she was not too interested… there are no princesses, no animation and no slap stick comedy. After the second time of putting it on the movie caught her eye, and now she seems to love it too.

The term “Pollyanna” has become the label of choice for a person who is a “do-gooder” or for one who tends to see the world through rose colored glasses. I have been accused, a time or two, of being a “Pollyanna” about things. I certainly have my cynical side and I am much more a stoic than the character ever was, but I do like to pick out the strengths in a situation or pick out what I can be grateful for.

If you have never seen the movie or read the book, Pollyanna teaches some pretty miserable people how to look at things through a different lens. One game she uses, and it is a game she learned from her father before he died, is a game called the “glad game.” When playing the glad game you have to look at something that makes you sad and then find one good thing about it that makes you glad. She shares a story about how badly she wanted a doll and her father (they were missionaries) had put in a request that the next missionary donation basket would have a small doll for his daughter. There was a mix up and Pollyanna did not get her doll, but for whatever reason there were crutches inside the shipment instead. When Pollyanna was asked “So, what’s there to be glad about? That’s terrible!” She cheerfully replied, “I am glad that I don’t have to use the crutches!”

There are always things in our path that are hard to navigate. Deployment, sickness, disease, strife, contention, and stresses are certainly some of the things that we have all faced — some of us have faced all of them, and some of us just one or two. Ultimately we are all on this path together. When I worked with “severely emotionally disturbed” kids I would do a strengths based assessment on the child and the support system around him or her. It was amazing to me what resources I could find if I could stop and focus on what was working well. It’s not a negation of the hard or difficult things, but rather it is like taking an inventory of what is working and how to use it to find your way through the calamity.

I used the movie Apollo 13 to illustrate this point when I would teach other social workers how to do a good strengths based assessment. I would forward to the part where the ship begins to have its serious troubles. Do you remember the movie? When the Astronauts radio down to Houston the guys on the ground begin to scramble for ways to fix the ship enough to bring it back home. At first they start talking about how to fix what was broken, but the main leader on the ground essentially tells them to stop thinking and dwelling on the dead parts of the ship. He then tells them to take an inventory of what is working and what we can use from it. Beautiful! You can’t build a working ship from the parts that are useless and not working — you build it from what you have that is useful and working. There are many days that I forget the very advice I used to teach to so many other social workers. Another childhood character comes to mind here. Remember who said “I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.”

So, if you want to play the glad game with me, please feel free. I for one am going to try and play it more often. So, I will list the sad thing, and then I will list what I am glad about:

Sad: My father is in the hospital with pneumonia.
Glad: I am glad that he is getting to rest and is being cared for.

Sad: I won’t hear from Mike again for a while.
Glad: I know that I can pray for his safety and his care.

Sad: Bryan’s leg still has a long way to go.
Glad: He is home and his Spirit is still strong.

Sad: I have a headache.
Glad: I am alive and well enough to feel it and to do something about it (grabbing the Advil as I type).

See, it’s not hard at all. What are sad about today? Is there anything in the sad thing to feel glad or grateful about?

Tags: faith, family life, mental health, well wishes by Claire
5 Comments »

From BBC
(excerpt) January 21, 1981: Tehran frees US hostages after 444 daysThe 52 American hostages held at the US embassy in Tehran for more than 14 months have arrived in West Germany on their way home to the United States. The former diplomats and embassy staff stepped from the plane onto the tarmac at Wiesbaden airport looking tired but elated after their 4,000-mile (6,437km) flight from Iran. Some waved to the crowd of well-wishers who had gathered, others gave the V-for-victory sign… (snip) … Stories of the “abominable treatment” the men and women suffered at the hands of their Iranian captors are beginning to emerge. Letters from home were burned in front of the hostages, there were regular beatings and some talked of games of Russian roulette.

Tags: Terrorism, history by Claire
3 Comments »

(found originally on RN)

Some of you may remember the story a month or so ago about a divorce attorney in Chicago who maliciously keyed a car that belongs to a deploying Marine. The car was keyed, admittedly by the attorney, because he noticed the car had military plates and a Marine insignia on it.

The story was a complete outrage, but the follow up is sweet. The attorney had his day in court, and the Marine had his justice. Read the story below for a wonderful example of sweet, sweet poetic justice!

Man who keyed car gets day in court; so do Marines
January 20, 2008

Jay Grodner, the Chicago lawyer who keyed a Marine’s car in anger because the car had military plates and a Marine insignia, finally got his day in court last week.

Grodner pleaded guilty in a Chicago courtroom packed with former Marines. Some had Marine pins on their coats, or baseball jackets with the Marine insignia. They didn’t yell or call him names. They came to support Marine Sgt. Michael McNulty, whose car Grodner defaced in December, but who couldn’t attend because he’s preparing for his second tour in Iraq.

I was not surprised in the least to hear that Sgt. McNulty had a room full of fellow Marines who were watching his back. I find it disgusting that a Marine who is facing a second deployment had to even be bothered with such a thing, but I never worried that he would not be supported by his brothers in arms.

Grodner was late to court for the second time in the case. Grodner called Assistant State’s Attorney Patrick Kelly, (Marine Corps/Vietnam 1969-1972), informing Kelly that he would be late to court.

“He wanted to avoid the media,” Kelly said Friday. “So he’s coming a half hour late.”

“I don’t run my courtroom that way!” responded Judge William O’Malley, ordering Grodner be arrested and held on $20,000 bail when he arrived. Finally, Grodner strolled in. A short man, wide, wearing a black fedora, dark glasses, a divorce lawyer dressed like some tough guy in the movies.

Grodner told me he’d describe himself as a “radical liberal” who’s ready to leave Chicago now with all this negative publicity and move to the south of France and do some traveling.

Well color me shocked! He’s a self-described “radical liberal” and more narcissistic than Madonna. Hang in there, this is where the story gets sweet!

Judge O’Malley has also traveled, but in his youth. He was a police officer on the West Side during the riots before law school. And before that, he performed another public service. Judge O’Malley served in the U.S. Marine Corps from 1961-1964.

What? What was that? Huh? The Judge was a Marine in the 60’s? You don’t say! Hm, things are about to get very uncomfy for our impertinent lawyer friend.

…

After the admission, came the details and Grodner was lucky, getting off with a misdemeanor and no jail time, and not a felony even though he caused $2,400 in damage to Sgt. McNulty’s car.

So Grodner received a $600 fine, which will go to a Marine charity, 30 hours of community service and a year of court supervision. If he doesn’t pay up in a month, the judge promised to put him in jail for a year.

Judge O’Malley had something to say. He looked out into his courtroom, at all those men who’d come to support a Marine they didn’t know.

“You caused damage to this young Marine sergeant’s car because you were offended by his Marine Corps license plates,” said Judge O’Malley.

Grodner stood there, hands behind his back. He grasped the fingers of his left hand with his right, and held it there, so they wouldn’t wiggle.

Feeling nervous, are we? Wishing we would have thought before we acted, maybe?

“You’re probably also wondering why there was a whole crowd of people here, Mr. Grodner,” said Judge O’Malley.

“I don’t want to wonder,” said Grodner, continuing in his new meek voice, not in his tough divorce lawyer voice, but the gentle, inside voice he’d just learned.

“That’s because there is a little principle that the Marine Corps has had since 1775,” the judge continued. “When they fought and lost their lives so that people like you could enjoy the freedom of this country. It is a little proverb that we follow:

“No Marine is left behind.

“So Sgt. McNulty couldn’t be here. But other Marines showed up in his stead. Take him away,” said the judge and former Marine.

To read the entire, beautifully written article sans Claire’s comments, please visit the Chicago Tribune

Tags: military, veterans by Claire
3 Comments »

I was going to start a blog (and who knows where this little rabbit trail will lead us all in the long run?!) about the incredibly weird things that are now a part of my life via my familial military affiliation. I know that things have changed for us in ways from the drastic to the subtle, and some are not so funny while others are very funny. Sometimes I can have a very odd sense of humor so maybe none of this is funny to anyone else. It would not be the first time that I laughed at myself, and laughed alone to boot — and let’s just say it’s a safe bet that this will not be the last!

I thought that I would make a list titled “You know you are knee deep in the hooah when … ” and then fill in the blank. So, here are a few of the things that I have heard from other wives/moms that make them feel “knee deep” in it some days, and a few of my own. Feel free to add yours to the comment section:

You know you are knee deep in the hooah when…

• … you sing a cadence in the shower.
• … you actually like the smell of ACUs after they’ve been worn!
• … you buy a formal gown and are giddy because you know you will move so much no one will ever see you in it twice.
• … your toddler tells the other kids to “move it! move it! let’s move it now!”
• … you can calculate your next child’s birth date based on deployment and leave times.
• … you write a blog about being a military wife or mom (or both!)
• … you smile when you see sandy boots on your floor (only for a few minutes though).
• … you have parachute cord in your laundry room.
• … you answer your cell phone in the middle of Church when your son or husband is deployed.
• … your husband blends in with the shrubs.
• … you can name aircraft based solely on the sound they make.
• … you can sleep through artillery fire.
• … you have a “my son jumps out of perfectly good planes!” bumper sticker on your car.
• … your husband thinks that success in a land nav course means he never has to ask for directions.
• … your toddler is an Army of One.
• … you worry when the phone rings, and you worry when the phone doesn’t ring.
• … your “gated community” is guarded by MPs.
• … you can’t sing the National Anthem without a tear or two.
• … your kids know what a commissary is, but not a grocery store.
• … your skyline includes jump towers.
• … your 16-year old wants a Stryker like his older brother.
• … they know you by name at the post office.
• … they have given you your own parking spot at the post office.
• … you have been named customer of the year at the post office.
• … you know how to pack cookies that make it to a war zone without crumbling.
• … you talk in TLAs.
• … you refer to your family as the “troops.”

Edited to add these from Sommer (who is an Army wife extraordinaire to say the least!) in comments:

• …You know exactly where the scotch tape was stored 2 houses ago, but you have no idea where it is in your current house.
• …You use 100 mile an hour tape on everything.
• …You have a flashlight with a red and green lens, but can’t find a regular white light.
• …You have a bigger drape selection than wal mart
• …You pick furniture based on what you think the movers will do the least damage to

Good ones Sommer! I love the furniture one! :)

That was easy to compile (which is scary!). I just asked Mr. Hooah! to help me with these, and between the two of us and the things we remember others saying, it seemed to just flow.

Tags: Army, Army Mom Posts, Army Wife Posts, Funny, Shack Pack news, family life, military by Claire
4 Comments »