I don't do enough to do right by our nation's veterans. I say that even though I am a veteran.
Part of my current experience is that I have not been in harm's way since a 2006-2007 deployment with the US Army in Iraq. I have my own sense of "what have I done lately?" The answer is, moved a lot of paper, delivered a boatload of expertise and leadership, and done so with the belief that it all mattered and that things that I've had my hand in are better than they would otherwise have been. But who knows, really.
I retire next summer. I have served a year in Iraq. I saw Baghdad most often across a wall, but once at night from a Blackhawk and enough from the inside of a Hummer to know how fast it could have gone bad. I spent 3 years working the alternately cold and windy or scorching hot flight deck of the USS ENTERPRISE, including Operation DESERT FOX, when we emptied the magazines on Saddam's special places. I watched a well trained crew put out a flight deck fire after a fatal crash, and my contribution was paltry but I did all I could, including that made sure the next group of deck hands were well trained. I logged 218 combat hours flying in and around the Arabian Gulf and over Afghanistan, landed planes with engine failures, flap failures, and in the dark, in the fog, at bizarre little places with short, narrow runways and poor instrument approach systems - and virtually every landing came at the end of a 9+ hour flight with some combination of either sleep deprivation or a completely fragmented sleep cycle. We logged 150 hours in a month and almost lost a flight because we were too tired to remember to get the flight surgeon's clearance to take off - I told a fellow veteran and airplane pilot that story and he joked "You guys should have a union."
If you can't tell, I feel a reasonable amount of pride in the roles I've been able to play in the uniform of our nation. I think it's arguable that I got more than I gave, even if some of what I gave felt grievous. But that brings me to a memory about the people you and I don't do right by.
When I was walking around Camp Victory with a gun all the time, they were outside fighting the irregular forces of Al Qaeda in Iraq. The blasting was near continuous the last few months I was there, as the surge got into gear. I would hear the chain gun of the Bradleys and Strykers and be grateful I wasn't one of the poor SOBs on the receiving end of that mess. But there was someone on the giving end of the Stryker love, and he and his buddies were dodging bullets and rockets all day. I was in the palace one day smoking a fat cigar with an old friend, and we watched through a hazy, chilly late winter day as the explosions flashed and 25mm pounded and we were as useless as a TV reporter. The troopers out in the city were unquestionably giving much more than they got. But they were also paying for the privilege with damage to body, mind and spirit.
I would like to get a pat on the back today. I would like someone to say thanks for the missed funerals of loved ones, the missed birth of my daughter, the missed 14 of the first 17 months of our second son's life. I endured and sometimes thrived through the deprivations of liberty, and physical comfort, one does not find when deployed to ship/desert/remote airfield, and etcetera. I would like a thanks for the care I gave to those I led and perhaps even for bringing back a lot of planes full of American servicemen and keeping a few young folks safe on a dynamic flight deck.
But even if I not so secretly want that sort of acknowledgement, I want even more to make a change, to do something that moves in the direction of helping those who really paid the price for the wars our nation has waged. Wounded Warrior Foundation? Yes. Fisher House? Of course.
I think my near depressed certainty that we cannot give these warriors back what they gave has led me to a failure of effort ... to this point.
Going forward, even if I can't do enough, I will do something, as many of you already have.
(minor edits, 16 Nov 11)
Part of my current experience is that I have not been in harm's way since a 2006-2007 deployment with the US Army in Iraq. I have my own sense of "what have I done lately?" The answer is, moved a lot of paper, delivered a boatload of expertise and leadership, and done so with the belief that it all mattered and that things that I've had my hand in are better than they would otherwise have been. But who knows, really.
I retire next summer. I have served a year in Iraq. I saw Baghdad most often across a wall, but once at night from a Blackhawk and enough from the inside of a Hummer to know how fast it could have gone bad. I spent 3 years working the alternately cold and windy or scorching hot flight deck of the USS ENTERPRISE, including Operation DESERT FOX, when we emptied the magazines on Saddam's special places. I watched a well trained crew put out a flight deck fire after a fatal crash, and my contribution was paltry but I did all I could, including that made sure the next group of deck hands were well trained. I logged 218 combat hours flying in and around the Arabian Gulf and over Afghanistan, landed planes with engine failures, flap failures, and in the dark, in the fog, at bizarre little places with short, narrow runways and poor instrument approach systems - and virtually every landing came at the end of a 9+ hour flight with some combination of either sleep deprivation or a completely fragmented sleep cycle. We logged 150 hours in a month and almost lost a flight because we were too tired to remember to get the flight surgeon's clearance to take off - I told a fellow veteran and airplane pilot that story and he joked "You guys should have a union."
If you can't tell, I feel a reasonable amount of pride in the roles I've been able to play in the uniform of our nation. I think it's arguable that I got more than I gave, even if some of what I gave felt grievous. But that brings me to a memory about the people you and I don't do right by.
When I was walking around Camp Victory with a gun all the time, they were outside fighting the irregular forces of Al Qaeda in Iraq. The blasting was near continuous the last few months I was there, as the surge got into gear. I would hear the chain gun of the Bradleys and Strykers and be grateful I wasn't one of the poor SOBs on the receiving end of that mess. But there was someone on the giving end of the Stryker love, and he and his buddies were dodging bullets and rockets all day. I was in the palace one day smoking a fat cigar with an old friend, and we watched through a hazy, chilly late winter day as the explosions flashed and 25mm pounded and we were as useless as a TV reporter. The troopers out in the city were unquestionably giving much more than they got. But they were also paying for the privilege with damage to body, mind and spirit.
I would like to get a pat on the back today. I would like someone to say thanks for the missed funerals of loved ones, the missed birth of my daughter, the missed 14 of the first 17 months of our second son's life. I endured and sometimes thrived through the deprivations of liberty, and physical comfort, one does not find when deployed to ship/desert/remote airfield, and etcetera. I would like a thanks for the care I gave to those I led and perhaps even for bringing back a lot of planes full of American servicemen and keeping a few young folks safe on a dynamic flight deck.
But even if I not so secretly want that sort of acknowledgement, I want even more to make a change, to do something that moves in the direction of helping those who really paid the price for the wars our nation has waged. Wounded Warrior Foundation? Yes. Fisher House? Of course.
I think my near depressed certainty that we cannot give these warriors back what they gave has led me to a failure of effort ... to this point.
Going forward, even if I can't do enough, I will do something, as many of you already have.
(minor edits, 16 Nov 11)
That's some good writing, Brother! Thank you, from someone you know has never been inside or outside the wire, for doing your part and doing it well. I am thankful for what you've done, and in a purely and unapologetically way I am thankful that you made it home.
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