Several weeks ago, my son-in-law, US Army soldier Richard Day came home for a couple of weeks with my daughter, Lindsay and 14 month old grandson, Jacob in tow. He was taking what the Army refers to as two weeks R&R before facing "lock down and deployment" to Baghdad, Iraq. I had been thinking for some time about what I was going to say to this 24 year old who at best is going to be absent from our lives for a minimum of one year. I have supported this war and the brave men and women who are called upon to fight it since day one. Still do. I will have to admit though, it was much easier to support, when it wasn't affecting my family.
Let's face it, we all still go to the mall, buy new cars, and go about our lives in a manner that acknowledges the conflict, but fixes it in our mind as something that is going on "over there." Accordingly, it doesn't impact our decision to purchase a plasma TV so we can be sure we don't miss a moment of that football game coming up Saturday. When the news comes on at halftime that one of America's finest has paid the ultimate price in the war, our consciousness gives momentary pause to the sadness of the event, but quickly gets back to the top of mind awareness offered by that new TV as a chance that UT hopefully will get their butt kicked again. Does that make us a bad person? I don't think so. Does it make us somewhat numbed to the "wars and rumors of war" that intrude into the safety of the cocoon our minds create everyday? Maybe.
I attempted to rehearse what I wanted to say to Richard for weeks before he came home. I even sought counsel from friends and those who I consider to be far in advance of me in intellectual capacity. "What do you say to a young man who is going off to war?" I'm sure it's a question asked among men and women for ages far too many times and with such frequency you'd think someone would have come up with a good answer by now. I told my daughter, I'd like to take Richard with me about 30 minutes in advance of the family going out to dinner the night before they had to return to Fort Hood. When that time arrived, he and I drove to the restaurant and while awaiting the rest of the family's arrival, I told him the only thing I could think of to tell him under the circumstance.
"I want you to stay focused on the job at hand. I've never been a soldier, but I do know that in any job you've got to stay focused to survive. I know you'll miss Lindsay and Jacob from an emotional level. But understand this, when you think of them, resolve yourself to the idea that they are well taken care of so don't worry about them. In that context, you don't have to lose focus because of your concern for them. You know the rules of engagement better than I, but if you're confronted with a potential harmful situation, don't hesitate because you may fear some repercussion from somebody's politically correct court of law. I will spend every dollar I have or can hope to ever have or borrow to defend you from someone's attempt to make you an example in a world gone mad with haste to render political correct judgments of your actions. So, do your job, stay focused, don't hesitate, and understand you are supported in every manner possible."
Certainly, I could have said more, and I'm sure it could have been said better, but as in the case of the situations I mentioned in the opening paragraph of this epistle, words sometimes just don't get the job done. The next day when my wife and I were saying goodbye as Richard, Lindsay and Jacob returned to the airport, an emotional farewell, hugs, and a firm handshake seemed to substitute for the only words left to say. As my wife and I waved goodbye, got in the car, and buckled our seatbelts, I turned to my tearful bride of 27 years and just said the only word I could get to form in my mouth, "Damn." I said. "It just sucks." she replied.
Gary Lawrence is Publisher of the Claiborne Progress
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