I enjoy the right to own firearms. I enjoy shooting firearms. I am a firearm enthusiast. I am NOT a "gun NUT"! Short of actually reading the second amendment to the US Constitution, I'm not sure how many people really understand what I'm talking about.
I read a quote in a magazine recently from actor Steve Zhan which said "Veterans are my sports heroes. When I meet someone who landed on Iwo Jima, or who landed on D-Day, those are the guys I want a picture and autograph with." I honestly couldn't have expressed those thoughts any better, and I couldn't agree more.
Last week, I enjoyed the opportunity provided by my colleagues to indulge in this interest at a Las Vegas firing line. Myself and nine others spent the better part of a few hours getting a taste of something (not just burnt powder - yuck!) we had not previously had any experience with: firing MACHINE GUNS! Yep, you read it right, fully automatic firearms. Here's the list: Browning 1919, AK-47, M-16, UZI, RPD, and a Thompson "Tommy gun". A few chose to also fire other weapons they had always wanted to shoot like a 12 gauge shotgun, a 44 Magnum, a 500 Smith and Wesson (mostly because it was just plain enormous), and maybe one or two others I'm forgetting about. Needless to say, we ALL had smiles on our faces when we entered the building, while we were on the line, and when we left. The smiles changed only in how big they got.
A few of the members of this would be "Band of Brothers" are from European countries. I'm not going into politics and why they have certain views on firearms or why their countries have certain views of firearms, but I noticed the same dynamic with them that we have in the US when it comes to firearms. They all thoroughly enjoyed this particular shooting experience. One person in particular had never fired a gun of any kind prior to this visit, and his first experience shooting a weapon was an UZI sub-machine gun. I don't think I've ever seen him more excited. It was fantastic.
At one point, a colleague said to me after we had fired off a few hundred rounds from the Browning model 1919, "Can you imagine having that thing shooting at you?!" My response would be typical of anyone "Hell no!" I haven't stopped thinking about his question. You'd think that would be an obvious thought anyone would have about a machine gun, but for me, it hit home a little differently. You see, I had the privilege to visit Omaha Beach in Normandy France last fall. When I stood on the actual sandy beach itself there in Normandy and stared at the waves, emotion rolled over me like those waves rolling in. It has magnitude that is difficult to describe, especially for someone who has difficulty describing his own emotions. To my left, Utah beach, to my right Gold, Sword, and Juno beaches. When I turned around to look back up the hill toward the cemetery, the distance to it, while not necessarily great, becomes un-imaginably far when you realize 67 years ago thousands of American soldiers stood in the exact same spot I stood while being shot at with artillery, machine guns, and everything else Hitler's army could throw at them.
No, I can't imagine being shot at with a machine gun. The Browning 1919 was exhilarating to shoot. It was mounted on a tripod. The range master laid out a cushion for customers to lay face down on in a prone position in order to comfortably fire the weapon. He sighted in and locked the firing position of the 1919 in place, and then turned to invite any one of us to take position. You would lay down prone behind the 1919, one hand on the tripod to steady it, one hand on the grip, and an index finger wrapped gently around the trigger. A few deep breaths to steady your heart rate, then...squeeze the trigger. Pop, pop, pop!! A short burst. Squeeze the trigger again but hold it just a bit longer, and fire begins spilling out of the barrel in all directions. Emotions run wild. Excitement being at the top of the list.
If you have ever watched any movies or television shows about World War II, you have undoubtedly seen the 1919. A simple search of "browning 1919" at images.google.com will yield results for the exact weapon. The sound, even wearing ear protection, is unmistakable and distinctive. This was an absolutely thrilling experience, and one that I hope to indulge in again. However, the business end of the 1919 is not something I ever want to experience, and I cannot imagine the terror that American soldiers experienced in June 1944 while they ran out of landing crafts in front of our enemies equivalent. These soldiers weren't just running from one gunner firing deliberately at them. History books and military historians have clearly documented how well defended those Normandy beaches were by the Nazis. There were many machine guns trained on our soldiers, and the odds of survival were not in the soldiers favor. Fully automatic machine guns firing down on you while trudging through water and sand, carrying wet and already heavy gear, and people all around you being killed in gruesome ways had to be the epitome of terror. I'm firing a machine gun in a fairly comfortable environment, and I can feel the very real terror that exists on the opposite end of it.
These men, American soldiers, walked right into the hail of bullets spewing out of the Nazi machine guns. What must have gone through their minds at that moment is likely indescribable. Then there's the reality that humans have senses beyond sight. What about sound? Deafening, even painful sound. Smells. Awful smells of sulfur from burned gun powder, the smell of blood and scorched flesh. Touch. Feeling cold or wet or having open cuts with sand in them. Taste. Mouthfuls or a stomach full of salt water from slipping and falling under the weight of their gear into waves. The whole thing is gruesome, but occurred for a righteous cause on the part of our soldiers. They did what they had to do to stop what had to be stopped. The thought of it puts a lump in my throat as I write.
Firing that 1919 reminded me of my journey to and experience at Omaha Beach 67 years after D-Day took place. America lost so many men on those beaches, but those men truly shaped our world into what we enjoy today, and gave us a lengthy extension on the lease to our freedom. The 1919 also reminded me that Memorial Day will be celebrated two weeks from today. I cannot express how much that day means to me. It goes beyond barbecues and entertainment. It's a day to remember what sacrifices were made for me by people that, in many cases, never got to experience the fruits of their labor.
I remember the line from the movie "Saving Private Ryan" where Tom Hanks' character says to the movie's namesake, "Earn this." What he was saying to Private Ryan was to not forget the ultimate price paid by so many in order for even one man to be free.
I don't know if I've "earned it" yet, but I do know that on Memorial Day, I'll remember why I have the privilege, in my freedom bought at a high price, to strive for more than mediocrity.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Information
Do the words of the Rob Thomas song "Little Wonders" affect any one else like they affect me? Every time that song plays through my head phones or car stereo I am instantly reminded how my life and the time I have been blessed to spend with my wife and children is quickly disappearing. I am unable to sing along - lump in my throat is too large. I am even having difficulty driving or sitting unnoticed in my seat on an airplane because of tears welling up in my eyes or rolling down my cheeks. I know, I am shameful. I am embarrassing myself. I am admitting to being able to feel something that few of us macho-male types are willing to admit: my heart moves when it is reminded of what is important or when it is affected by meaning and significance. The lyrics to this despicable, heart-wrenching song go like this:
"let it go,
let it roll right off your shoulder
don't you know
the hardest part is over
let it in,
let your clarity define you
in the end
we will only just remember how it feels
our lives are made
in these small hours
these little wonders, <-------somewhere in here is when I LOSE it
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
but these small hours,
these small hours still remain
let it slide,
let your troubles fall behind you
let it shine
until you feel it all around you
and i don't mind
if it's me you need to turn to
we'll get by,
it's the heart that really matters in the end <------I am DONE by this point
our lives are made
in these small hours
these little wonders,
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
but these small hours,
these small hours still remain
all of my regret
will wash away some how <------person next to me on plane is staring at me
but i can not forget
the way i feel right now
in these small hours
these little wonders
these twists & turns of fate
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away but these small hours
these small hours, still remain,
still remain
these little wonders
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away
but these small hours
these little wonders still remain" <-----I realize "Yeah, I am a blubbering wimp"
So I ask myself, will all of my regret simply wash away? I have heard that quality time spent with our family and friends is the glue that bonds us together. Or, maybe it is the key to unlock our hearts and open them to others. In reality, quality time typically shows up, unannounced and unexpected, during quantity time. Little wonders add up to a mountain of amazement if that is true, and how many little wonders have I blown or simply missed.
I was sitting in a restaurant with my family recently, and noticed that there were several people sitting across from one another "thumbing" their mobile phones. Literally, these people are in the middle of a meal together, which is traditionally a time for bonding and socializing, and they are completely caught up in something out on the internet that makes no difference at that moment during that meal with that other person. At least, maybe that is how I perceive the other person to feel. Unless of course the other person is doing the same thing, which in this case, they were. What if they were sending text messages to each other?! I decided to stop looking around for fear of noticing more people sending text messages to each other across the table and becoming more annoyed, and then started talking to my own family. What a concept! I am not bragging and am not perfect. I just recognized something that has been bothering me more often than not these days, and it is something I struggle with as well. I guess it is easy to see our own faults in others, and even easier to point at them as their judge and jury and exclaim "You are wrong!"
I thought to myself "I wonder how that person feels watching a friend or family member 'thumb' away their time together?" Then again, maybe I am jumping to a conclusion, and the texts are being sent to let someone else in their party know where the big dinner with a long, lost friend is located. You know, so everyone can come enjoy the meal and happy time together! Right? That is possible, yes? Well, maybe. The more likely explanation is that the texts are about some person who does not even know that their acquaintances are saying nasty things about them behind their back. Or they are droning about the latest new thing to become a massive topic of temporary conversation. Or maybe they are texts being sent from one person to another and a unique and unhealthy bond could be forming. Whatever the subject, good or bad, we, myself included, are sending messages very clearly to the person sitting across from us when we choose to utilize information and neglect a relationship.
Admittedly, a new pet peeve of mine is when people send and acknowledge text messages when they are located in some of the most intimate of meetings. It seems like that is happening more and more lately. For example, I am meeting with some of my very good friends, we are having a very meaningful and constructive conversation, one of their phones makes either an audible noise or a vibration or BOTH, and the next thing I know I have lost their FULL attention. I want it ALL! Not part of your attention, not just a tad or a smidgen, I WANT ALL! I have lost their attention at a pivotal moment when I needed their attention the most. Now, when I regain their attention, I have lost the intensity in my words. Inside, I am steaming. No sharp and obvious feeling lives in my words any longer. I am struggling to not become angry, and am also struggling to find my way back to the vulnerability I started this particular conversation with. The moment I needed them for has passed. That bit, or little wonder, of information I possessed, live and in person, has not come out with the same value and meaning, if I am even able to make it come out at all now. Someone else got in the middle. Someone else got to take away from my personal and physical time invested with another person, a friend or family member, and stole from me what I rightfully deserved: quality time in the midst of quantity time!
Lately, I have become very sad. I hurt for my friends. I hurt for my family. Over the past couple of years, I have learned how fragile life truly is as a human being. In my own life, I have learned that just because I have managed to stay married for fifteen years, there is no guarantee it will always be that way. It takes a significant amount of effort and focus. My wife is the only person on the entire earth that really knows me, and there are things about me she is still learning and we have only scratched the surface. I think she would say the same things. We pour out our thoughts and feelings to one another. We spend enormous amounts of time together. We work on our communication with one another, which is a monumental task. We are both aware of just how fragile our marriage is, and just how much work it takes to keep it from flying off the tracks. Are our efforts being sabotaged? Two people, two selfish people, two people who ultimately want gratification, are living together as ONE and are expected to stay that way until one or the other dies. Is that logical? Tell me, is that normal? I look around at my friends and my family. There are marriages in those two groups that are broken by divorce or infidelity or separation, and I ask myself "Why is this happening and why is it happening so often and why to them?" The only logical clues seem to be that there must have been two separate lives pulling the ONE life apart, slowly, but surely.
Not one set of my married friends or family members got married with the intention to fail. Right? They did not believe in looking for ruin when they should have been looking for joy. They did not enter into a covenant of unity and debate on whether they had made the right choice. They joined together because they fell in love. They "felt" like it was the next step in their relationship. They "felt" they could not live without the other person. Well here is my question: what the hell do they "FEEL" now? Where did those feelings go? Oh yes, feelings, you know they betray you, right? My feelings are anger, guilt, resentment, fear, loneliness, embarrassment, ...shall I stop? Were those not the feelings I should be admitting? Should my feelings have been superficial and only been joy, love, hope, happy, and the like? A marriage, it appears to me, will not continue based on lying to yourself or your spouse. It requires real open and honest communication. It requires time and effort. How do we move past fleeting feelings and get to a point where we just want to be ONE again? I did not know how to make the connection of rejoicing. I still do not. I do know that I had once joiced, but could not seem to figure out how to rejoice. My family and friends joiced, but were and are now nowhere near rejoicing, unless separation or divorce is part of rejoicing. Like I said earlier, I do not believe any of my married friends or family members started out looking for that type of rejoicing.
If marriage were a person, we would say "Poor Marriage. It gets neglected. No wonder it is in such bad shape. It never really gets any attention. It gets pushed by the way, and so many other things take its rightful place. I am not surprised it ended so soon." It is as if marriage is set up to fail these days. We have so many options to distract us and entertain us, but we really do not have anything that aids us in the care and feeding of a marriage.
I have high speed internet at home. I have 18 Mbps (Mbps is mega bits per second) or 18,000,000 million bits per second to my home. When I first started selling internet access in early 1996, I was selling dial-up network internet access at a whopping 14.4 Kbps (Kilo bits per second) or 14,400 bits per second. People literally cringe at the thought of that wretched little amount of internet connectivity. I do. Do you have any idea how much 14,400 bits per second really is? My current resume is three pages long in Microsoft Word format. It is filled with information about my entire working career. It is roughly 57 KB (Kilo Bytes) of digital data. At 14.4 Kbps, I could send it to someone or it could be downloaded in roughly four seconds. Pretty impressive, huh? Well, we now commonly measure things in Tera Bytes or TB. Do you know how much a TB is? If you took an eight and a half by eleven sheet of printer paper, typed a zero and then a one and then a zero and then a one and kept doing that over and over (a bit of data is either a zero or a one, and there are eight bits in one byte), with one inch margins at the sides and top and bottom of the page, single spaced, then turned over the page, repeated the typing of zeroes and ones with the same dimensions, and did not stop until you had hammered out a single TB, you would have a stack of paper over twenty six miles high! That is the distance of a marathon! And I can download it at 18 Mbps, which would take about sixteen to seventeen hours at my home, but still. Is that significant or me just being geeky? Probably both, but it is becoming more and more possible to extract vast amounts of data from all kinds of sources on all kinds of subjects without even blinking an eye or breaking a sweat. I can even do it with my mobile phone now. I can create digital pictures and movies. I can post them instantly to Facebook or Twitter or Flickr or where ever I choose. I can do that all while I am sitting at breakfast or lunch or dinner, in a meeting, at my desk, in my car, on a plane, at a Starbucks, or an endless list of other places. What about music and movies? I had over one hundred cassette tapes when I was a kid. I had an amazing collection of music by most standards at the time. I even had eight track tapes and vinyl records. I now have more music than myself and my friends combined possessed, and I have it all on my laptop and my mobile phone in a digital format. In 2010, is it conceivable that I might possibly become distracted from my wife and kids? From my marriage? From my friends? From my real life?
I have not even scratched the surface on the amount and variety of distractions that exist today. Video games or online gambling, for example, take up significant amounts of people's time now, and they are typically a single individual playing out a fantasy on their own. Distractions do replace or get in the way of our relationships, and could create separateness. Separateness could be a significant reason for ONE to become two again. When that happens, are we then left vulnerable? I would think so.
The internet is not evil, and I am not advocating that it is the reason marriages are failing. However, it is interesting that in an age where we have far more access to information and far quicker than ever before we are seeing marital devastation far more often. We have more to distract us from our most valued relationships than ever, and I wonder if all those little wonders are not being neglected as a result. It is so much easier now to just text someone rather than go through that ordeal or hassle of actually having to talk to someone. It is much easier now to write an email and pass information to someone rather than take the time to write out a note by hand and hope that the postal service delivers it in a reasonable amount of time. Who wants to wait for that? Who wants to wait for anything any more?
About a month after we got married, we attended a wedding for one of my wife's cousins that she grew up with, and who has since divorced the girl he married that day. It was held in the same setting where we got married: outdoors, old country town in Arkansas, attended by lots of family and friends. I remember looking at all of the old ladies seated and waiting for the ceremony to begin, and I remember all of the old men sitting with them or standing next to them providing shade on that hot day in July. These were married men and women who had lived through the Great Depression, World Wars, many Presidents, children, grand children, and in some cases a whole lot of bad things that inevitably find their way into all of our lives. But, they were still together. After all those years, after all those world events or crises, after all of those times of trial, they were still ONE. Some of those marriages had lasted over fifty years. Today, some have lasted over sixty. I remember, vividly, thinking "How did they do it? How did they last that long?" I had those thoughts one month into my own marriage that has now lasted fifteen years, and I am still wondering the exact same thing all these years later. Especially in the wake of the marriage that began that day, and ultimately ended shortly after.
When I think of marriage, I think of love. I also think of like. Liking someone and loving someone are not the same thing, but love is a critical ingredient to marriage. What is love?
"Love is patient
Love is kind
It does not envy
It does not boast
it is not proud
It is not rude
It is not self-seeking
It is not easily angered
It keeps no record of wrongs
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth
It always protects
Always trusts
Always hopes
Always perseveres
Love never fails"
That does not sound like how my marriage relationship started out. I even wonder if I have witnessed that kind of love in my entire life. How am I going to measure up to love like that? How do I even mimic it? One day or one step at a time is all I can focus on. Liking the person I am married to also makes the difference.
Let me be honest, I am privy to some very sensitive information. Information that would shame and emotionally hurt people if I were to tell someone else, or in some cases, even if they knew I knew it at all. I cannot judge or condemn. I am no different than any one else. I am human and full of flaws. I will tell you that I do not know where my own feelings went when the good ones got replaced by some bad ones, and where they went is still a mystery to me. But, I do know they went as far away from the person I married as they could have, and somehow, in spite of it all, we still justified staying together. Becoming parents was not the answer to our problems. Any parent will tell you children only add stress to a marriage. Sometimes, people get lost in their children, and never find a way back to one another. Buying a home was not the answer. That only adds another responsibility to the mix, and can allow financial stress to create a fissure in a relationship. Becoming more successful was not fixing anything. If anything, that was a detractor. The more money you make, the more that is expected of you. In today's world, business can be conducted globally. Flying around and spending time on the road for work takes you away from your family and friends, and that does not bode well for a marriage when you are separate on a regular basis for extended periods of time. So then what caused two to become one to become one and a half on the way to two again? Life. Distractions. Selfishness. Responsibility. Demands from all kinds of sources. Are any one of those happening to me or my wife? Yes. Are any one of them capable of crippling my marriage? Yes. What prevents those things from destroying a marriage? Well, I became callous and without the regard and feeling for my wife that I started with when our marriage began. I dove into a sea of selfishness, and swam around for a while, for years, playing and focusing on me. Subtly, telling myself that it was for the benefit of my family. That is dangerous ground to tread, for certain.
One day, around Thanksgiving, about six or so years ago, I caught a glimpse of the girl I dated and eventually married. She was doing something usual, but I saw her, really saw her, for the first time in a long time. Things changed at that point. Things got really good and we spent time together like we had when we first got to know one another. We had fun, we laughed, and we talked. Then, you know what happened next? Things went down hill again. She got to the point where she had extreme difficulty with me. And you know what happened? Things got good again. Better than ever. And the cycle of our marriage continues. Not long ago, we went through another difficult time in our marriage where we were both discovering things about ourselves. We re-kindled interests we used to have or denied ourselves of, and began to indulge in those interests. What was the result? We worked through some very tough emotions. We talked through hurt feelings. We were honest without agenda, and we tried to better understand each other. Today, we are closer than we have ever been, but we have both walked through some tough moments where it would have been easier to just walk away from one another and leave our children to pick up the pieces. I am thankful to God for my wife and our marriage. It has been the most work I have ever had to put into anything in my entire life. It is never, and I mean never, easy, but it is worth it. Anything worth having is worth working for.
I did not want to write this note. I feel like I had to, and I can not seem to stop. The story is not over even when I finish typing this note. This note will be digital proof that I am working hard to build a relationship with my wife in a time when there are things like Facebook Notes that serve to only distract me from my most important work: loving my wife and loving my kids. Those are my little wonders. The wonders that give me joy. Neglecting them would destroy me emotionally. I hurt for my family and friends who are struggling to keep their marriages in tact. I hurt for the sacrifice of real relationships only to gain information that is not relevant to those relationships. But I am committed to my own marriage, and I will not regret the few moments I have been given to live as a young man, married to a young woman, with the voices of little wonders still living under the same roof with us. We are ONE.
"let it go,
let it roll right off your shoulder
don't you know
the hardest part is over
let it in,
let your clarity define you
in the end
we will only just remember how it feels
our lives are made
in these small hours
these little wonders, <-------somewhere in here is when I LOSE it
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
but these small hours,
these small hours still remain
let it slide,
let your troubles fall behind you
let it shine
until you feel it all around you
and i don't mind
if it's me you need to turn to
we'll get by,
it's the heart that really matters in the end <------I am DONE by this point
our lives are made
in these small hours
these little wonders,
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
but these small hours,
these small hours still remain
all of my regret
will wash away some how <------person next to me on plane is staring at me
but i can not forget
the way i feel right now
in these small hours
these little wonders
these twists & turns of fate
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away but these small hours
these small hours, still remain,
still remain
these little wonders
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away
but these small hours
these little wonders still remain" <-----I realize "Yeah, I am a blubbering wimp"
So I ask myself, will all of my regret simply wash away? I have heard that quality time spent with our family and friends is the glue that bonds us together. Or, maybe it is the key to unlock our hearts and open them to others. In reality, quality time typically shows up, unannounced and unexpected, during quantity time. Little wonders add up to a mountain of amazement if that is true, and how many little wonders have I blown or simply missed.
I was sitting in a restaurant with my family recently, and noticed that there were several people sitting across from one another "thumbing" their mobile phones. Literally, these people are in the middle of a meal together, which is traditionally a time for bonding and socializing, and they are completely caught up in something out on the internet that makes no difference at that moment during that meal with that other person. At least, maybe that is how I perceive the other person to feel. Unless of course the other person is doing the same thing, which in this case, they were. What if they were sending text messages to each other?! I decided to stop looking around for fear of noticing more people sending text messages to each other across the table and becoming more annoyed, and then started talking to my own family. What a concept! I am not bragging and am not perfect. I just recognized something that has been bothering me more often than not these days, and it is something I struggle with as well. I guess it is easy to see our own faults in others, and even easier to point at them as their judge and jury and exclaim "You are wrong!"
I thought to myself "I wonder how that person feels watching a friend or family member 'thumb' away their time together?" Then again, maybe I am jumping to a conclusion, and the texts are being sent to let someone else in their party know where the big dinner with a long, lost friend is located. You know, so everyone can come enjoy the meal and happy time together! Right? That is possible, yes? Well, maybe. The more likely explanation is that the texts are about some person who does not even know that their acquaintances are saying nasty things about them behind their back. Or they are droning about the latest new thing to become a massive topic of temporary conversation. Or maybe they are texts being sent from one person to another and a unique and unhealthy bond could be forming. Whatever the subject, good or bad, we, myself included, are sending messages very clearly to the person sitting across from us when we choose to utilize information and neglect a relationship.
Admittedly, a new pet peeve of mine is when people send and acknowledge text messages when they are located in some of the most intimate of meetings. It seems like that is happening more and more lately. For example, I am meeting with some of my very good friends, we are having a very meaningful and constructive conversation, one of their phones makes either an audible noise or a vibration or BOTH, and the next thing I know I have lost their FULL attention. I want it ALL! Not part of your attention, not just a tad or a smidgen, I WANT ALL! I have lost their attention at a pivotal moment when I needed their attention the most. Now, when I regain their attention, I have lost the intensity in my words. Inside, I am steaming. No sharp and obvious feeling lives in my words any longer. I am struggling to not become angry, and am also struggling to find my way back to the vulnerability I started this particular conversation with. The moment I needed them for has passed. That bit, or little wonder, of information I possessed, live and in person, has not come out with the same value and meaning, if I am even able to make it come out at all now. Someone else got in the middle. Someone else got to take away from my personal and physical time invested with another person, a friend or family member, and stole from me what I rightfully deserved: quality time in the midst of quantity time!
Lately, I have become very sad. I hurt for my friends. I hurt for my family. Over the past couple of years, I have learned how fragile life truly is as a human being. In my own life, I have learned that just because I have managed to stay married for fifteen years, there is no guarantee it will always be that way. It takes a significant amount of effort and focus. My wife is the only person on the entire earth that really knows me, and there are things about me she is still learning and we have only scratched the surface. I think she would say the same things. We pour out our thoughts and feelings to one another. We spend enormous amounts of time together. We work on our communication with one another, which is a monumental task. We are both aware of just how fragile our marriage is, and just how much work it takes to keep it from flying off the tracks. Are our efforts being sabotaged? Two people, two selfish people, two people who ultimately want gratification, are living together as ONE and are expected to stay that way until one or the other dies. Is that logical? Tell me, is that normal? I look around at my friends and my family. There are marriages in those two groups that are broken by divorce or infidelity or separation, and I ask myself "Why is this happening and why is it happening so often and why to them?" The only logical clues seem to be that there must have been two separate lives pulling the ONE life apart, slowly, but surely.
Not one set of my married friends or family members got married with the intention to fail. Right? They did not believe in looking for ruin when they should have been looking for joy. They did not enter into a covenant of unity and debate on whether they had made the right choice. They joined together because they fell in love. They "felt" like it was the next step in their relationship. They "felt" they could not live without the other person. Well here is my question: what the hell do they "FEEL" now? Where did those feelings go? Oh yes, feelings, you know they betray you, right? My feelings are anger, guilt, resentment, fear, loneliness, embarrassment, ...shall I stop? Were those not the feelings I should be admitting? Should my feelings have been superficial and only been joy, love, hope, happy, and the like? A marriage, it appears to me, will not continue based on lying to yourself or your spouse. It requires real open and honest communication. It requires time and effort. How do we move past fleeting feelings and get to a point where we just want to be ONE again? I did not know how to make the connection of rejoicing. I still do not. I do know that I had once joiced, but could not seem to figure out how to rejoice. My family and friends joiced, but were and are now nowhere near rejoicing, unless separation or divorce is part of rejoicing. Like I said earlier, I do not believe any of my married friends or family members started out looking for that type of rejoicing.
If marriage were a person, we would say "Poor Marriage. It gets neglected. No wonder it is in such bad shape. It never really gets any attention. It gets pushed by the way, and so many other things take its rightful place. I am not surprised it ended so soon." It is as if marriage is set up to fail these days. We have so many options to distract us and entertain us, but we really do not have anything that aids us in the care and feeding of a marriage.
I have high speed internet at home. I have 18 Mbps (Mbps is mega bits per second) or 18,000,000 million bits per second to my home. When I first started selling internet access in early 1996, I was selling dial-up network internet access at a whopping 14.4 Kbps (Kilo bits per second) or 14,400 bits per second. People literally cringe at the thought of that wretched little amount of internet connectivity. I do. Do you have any idea how much 14,400 bits per second really is? My current resume is three pages long in Microsoft Word format. It is filled with information about my entire working career. It is roughly 57 KB (Kilo Bytes) of digital data. At 14.4 Kbps, I could send it to someone or it could be downloaded in roughly four seconds. Pretty impressive, huh? Well, we now commonly measure things in Tera Bytes or TB. Do you know how much a TB is? If you took an eight and a half by eleven sheet of printer paper, typed a zero and then a one and then a zero and then a one and kept doing that over and over (a bit of data is either a zero or a one, and there are eight bits in one byte), with one inch margins at the sides and top and bottom of the page, single spaced, then turned over the page, repeated the typing of zeroes and ones with the same dimensions, and did not stop until you had hammered out a single TB, you would have a stack of paper over twenty six miles high! That is the distance of a marathon! And I can download it at 18 Mbps, which would take about sixteen to seventeen hours at my home, but still. Is that significant or me just being geeky? Probably both, but it is becoming more and more possible to extract vast amounts of data from all kinds of sources on all kinds of subjects without even blinking an eye or breaking a sweat. I can even do it with my mobile phone now. I can create digital pictures and movies. I can post them instantly to Facebook or Twitter or Flickr or where ever I choose. I can do that all while I am sitting at breakfast or lunch or dinner, in a meeting, at my desk, in my car, on a plane, at a Starbucks, or an endless list of other places. What about music and movies? I had over one hundred cassette tapes when I was a kid. I had an amazing collection of music by most standards at the time. I even had eight track tapes and vinyl records. I now have more music than myself and my friends combined possessed, and I have it all on my laptop and my mobile phone in a digital format. In 2010, is it conceivable that I might possibly become distracted from my wife and kids? From my marriage? From my friends? From my real life?
I have not even scratched the surface on the amount and variety of distractions that exist today. Video games or online gambling, for example, take up significant amounts of people's time now, and they are typically a single individual playing out a fantasy on their own. Distractions do replace or get in the way of our relationships, and could create separateness. Separateness could be a significant reason for ONE to become two again. When that happens, are we then left vulnerable? I would think so.
The internet is not evil, and I am not advocating that it is the reason marriages are failing. However, it is interesting that in an age where we have far more access to information and far quicker than ever before we are seeing marital devastation far more often. We have more to distract us from our most valued relationships than ever, and I wonder if all those little wonders are not being neglected as a result. It is so much easier now to just text someone rather than go through that ordeal or hassle of actually having to talk to someone. It is much easier now to write an email and pass information to someone rather than take the time to write out a note by hand and hope that the postal service delivers it in a reasonable amount of time. Who wants to wait for that? Who wants to wait for anything any more?
About a month after we got married, we attended a wedding for one of my wife's cousins that she grew up with, and who has since divorced the girl he married that day. It was held in the same setting where we got married: outdoors, old country town in Arkansas, attended by lots of family and friends. I remember looking at all of the old ladies seated and waiting for the ceremony to begin, and I remember all of the old men sitting with them or standing next to them providing shade on that hot day in July. These were married men and women who had lived through the Great Depression, World Wars, many Presidents, children, grand children, and in some cases a whole lot of bad things that inevitably find their way into all of our lives. But, they were still together. After all those years, after all those world events or crises, after all of those times of trial, they were still ONE. Some of those marriages had lasted over fifty years. Today, some have lasted over sixty. I remember, vividly, thinking "How did they do it? How did they last that long?" I had those thoughts one month into my own marriage that has now lasted fifteen years, and I am still wondering the exact same thing all these years later. Especially in the wake of the marriage that began that day, and ultimately ended shortly after.
When I think of marriage, I think of love. I also think of like. Liking someone and loving someone are not the same thing, but love is a critical ingredient to marriage. What is love?
"Love is patient
Love is kind
It does not envy
It does not boast
it is not proud
It is not rude
It is not self-seeking
It is not easily angered
It keeps no record of wrongs
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth
It always protects
Always trusts
Always hopes
Always perseveres
Love never fails"
That does not sound like how my marriage relationship started out. I even wonder if I have witnessed that kind of love in my entire life. How am I going to measure up to love like that? How do I even mimic it? One day or one step at a time is all I can focus on. Liking the person I am married to also makes the difference.
Let me be honest, I am privy to some very sensitive information. Information that would shame and emotionally hurt people if I were to tell someone else, or in some cases, even if they knew I knew it at all. I cannot judge or condemn. I am no different than any one else. I am human and full of flaws. I will tell you that I do not know where my own feelings went when the good ones got replaced by some bad ones, and where they went is still a mystery to me. But, I do know they went as far away from the person I married as they could have, and somehow, in spite of it all, we still justified staying together. Becoming parents was not the answer to our problems. Any parent will tell you children only add stress to a marriage. Sometimes, people get lost in their children, and never find a way back to one another. Buying a home was not the answer. That only adds another responsibility to the mix, and can allow financial stress to create a fissure in a relationship. Becoming more successful was not fixing anything. If anything, that was a detractor. The more money you make, the more that is expected of you. In today's world, business can be conducted globally. Flying around and spending time on the road for work takes you away from your family and friends, and that does not bode well for a marriage when you are separate on a regular basis for extended periods of time. So then what caused two to become one to become one and a half on the way to two again? Life. Distractions. Selfishness. Responsibility. Demands from all kinds of sources. Are any one of those happening to me or my wife? Yes. Are any one of them capable of crippling my marriage? Yes. What prevents those things from destroying a marriage? Well, I became callous and without the regard and feeling for my wife that I started with when our marriage began. I dove into a sea of selfishness, and swam around for a while, for years, playing and focusing on me. Subtly, telling myself that it was for the benefit of my family. That is dangerous ground to tread, for certain.
One day, around Thanksgiving, about six or so years ago, I caught a glimpse of the girl I dated and eventually married. She was doing something usual, but I saw her, really saw her, for the first time in a long time. Things changed at that point. Things got really good and we spent time together like we had when we first got to know one another. We had fun, we laughed, and we talked. Then, you know what happened next? Things went down hill again. She got to the point where she had extreme difficulty with me. And you know what happened? Things got good again. Better than ever. And the cycle of our marriage continues. Not long ago, we went through another difficult time in our marriage where we were both discovering things about ourselves. We re-kindled interests we used to have or denied ourselves of, and began to indulge in those interests. What was the result? We worked through some very tough emotions. We talked through hurt feelings. We were honest without agenda, and we tried to better understand each other. Today, we are closer than we have ever been, but we have both walked through some tough moments where it would have been easier to just walk away from one another and leave our children to pick up the pieces. I am thankful to God for my wife and our marriage. It has been the most work I have ever had to put into anything in my entire life. It is never, and I mean never, easy, but it is worth it. Anything worth having is worth working for.
I did not want to write this note. I feel like I had to, and I can not seem to stop. The story is not over even when I finish typing this note. This note will be digital proof that I am working hard to build a relationship with my wife in a time when there are things like Facebook Notes that serve to only distract me from my most important work: loving my wife and loving my kids. Those are my little wonders. The wonders that give me joy. Neglecting them would destroy me emotionally. I hurt for my family and friends who are struggling to keep their marriages in tact. I hurt for the sacrifice of real relationships only to gain information that is not relevant to those relationships. But I am committed to my own marriage, and I will not regret the few moments I have been given to live as a young man, married to a young woman, with the voices of little wonders still living under the same roof with us. We are ONE.
Blogging
Do you feel like you should blog? I ask myself that same question. I recently read a Twitter post by a colleague suggesting that you should blog only if you are passionate about what you are blogging about. My wife heard me talking through that statement, and said "What if you just have something to say and there's not necessarily passion in that subject?" That is pretty much the gist of what she said anyway. I thought "Yeah, what if." I do not feel the same way in that passion is the only reason to blog. Maybe I just need to write something down to get it out of my head. Maybe I just need to deliver a message. Maybe I have learned something the hard way, and now I want someone else, in the masses, to read it and say "Yeah, I get that too. I understand." Maybe I just want to put one foot in front of the other, and carry on when I would rather just throw my hands up in the air and throw myself a good old fashioned pity party.
I saw a de-motivational poster once that has stuck with me, and it bothered me then and still bothers me. It also bothers me that something like an image, meant to be funny, has stuck with me for so long in the context I see it in. Bottom line, it just plain bothers me. On despair.com, there is a poster titled "Mistakes", and the caption reads "It could be that the purpose of your life is only to serve as a warning to others." Wow! It even bothers me to type it. Could you accept that? Do you want to be known as a warning to others in any capacity? I have to admit, that is a fear of mine.
I am in a unique position to mentor others. It is a valuable position, one that I do not dismiss or take for granted, and when I find myself in tough circumstances where I do not feel like encouraging others or building others up or teaching others for their own benefit, it is that much harder to perform in that capacity. What to do. Do I just let raw emotion prevail and blast venom and negativity out all over any willing listener? After all, misery loves company, right? How does The National Enquirer stay in business if that is not true? When others are lifted up and elevated higher than ourselves, don't we all get a little satisfaction in their failures or mistakes? If you do, have you ever admitted it? I have an ugly streak that runs through me, and would be embarrassing and humiliating for that ugliness to become public for any one to see. Am I so different than any one else in that regard? My note is full of rhetorical questions. Questions I do not have the answers for either. These are the things, that are not written with passion, that seem to be leading me to write.
I suppose there are times when you hear something or see something you do not like that forces you to fall back on basic character traits in order to continue putting one foot in front of the other. I am stubborn. I am willing to fight just about any fight if the fight is just. Injustice is a HUGE pet-peeve of mine. I have a very difficult time these days watching the news programs on television. I even have extreme difficulty reading news on the internet or reading emails sent to me that deal with a sensitive subject that truly does matter. The reason? Those things tend to make me angry. A difference is something I have always thought I wanted to make in the world. In some ways, I feel like getting spun up on a subject that is just and right will just lead to further frustration because I believe I see the solution. I see it so clearly. It is obvious! Why doesn't everyone else see it??!! Get it? Good. Righteous anger is good, and it is the kind of anger that keeps good character motivated to find solutions. The problem with me is I end up letting injustice affect me far more than it should. That is just how I am wired.
As I said, I take my role as a mentor very seriously. I am responsible for raising a son and a daughter. I want justice for them in any and every situation. I am also responsible and entrusted by my company to make rational, level-headed choices and decisions to benefit colleagues and customers. When things do not go my way, which tends to happen when you are human, I do my very best not to let it affect those that I am responsible to mentor. I have no mistakes to admit or own up to here. Honestly, admitting mistakes here is not why I am writing. But, I surely do make my share of mistakes, and how I am choosing to react is one of those moments where I suppose I am serving as a warning to others. I flat out refuse to be a de-motivational joke!
A little while ago, I just put another footstep out in front of the other, and am focused on that one step at this particular moment. That one step made a difference, that I believe. That one step may have just been the single most important step I could have made today. I put away selfish desires for my own justice, and elevated someone else. Was it a hard pill to choke down? What do you think? Today was not promised to me. Today was a gift to me. My wife said recently that our generation is a generation full of "Lost boys." She did not mean it in a derogatory way toward me. She was stating something I believe to be true, and something that I want my son protected from or at least better equipped to handle. Her astute observation related to men today struggling with having to balance enormous pressures both at home and at work. Pressures to know who we are, to know *exactly* what we want to do with our lives, and pressures to know who, what, when where, why, and how at all times, at any cost, in any situation. Can you handle that kind of pressure? Pressures to perform in both capacities, at home and work, are enormous, to say the very least. It is as if we are expected to know how to handle those pressures without making mistakes. It is as though each of us were fully equipped with the knowledge or training on how to perform them before we were even born. Sometimes, I feel like I missed an important memo during pre-born training. Kind of like the way I feel about my Inbox when "important" email piles up into the hundreds of unread messages. Performing perfectly in a world where perfection is not attainable, but nevertheless expected, is overwhelming at times.
I often find it difficult to unplug from work, and immediately engage my role at home. In the past, I have had ample time to switch from one role to the other, but now, with the demands of my current work life, that buffer of time is almost non-existent. So one footstep at a time it shall be. I am not taking the month of June to adjust my tempo or my pace. I am not taking the second week of June or even this Wednesday to adjust. I am taking each moment, and doing my very best, which is not always good enough, to make each moment count for the better. I will not add injustice to injustice because I can not afford such behavior, and two wrongs do not make one right (oddly, they are making me write). I want my son to see his dad love his mom. To see his dad dote on his mom, hug his mom, speak kindly and complimentary to his mom. I want him to see his dad get up, go to work, take care of his family, and fight a good fight. I want my daughter to look for those traits in a future husband. Equipping them in these small ways will hopefully equip them to handle all the challenges they will surely one day face. I want my children and any one else I am entrusted to mentor to realize pressure will rise, they will make mistakes, and they will become better because of it all.
The word "if" comes to mind. "If I had unlimited time" or "If I had unlimited resources". Excuses will not help me in my role of mentor. One step in front of the last is the only option I have. Passion? Well, maybe I have passion. Maybe passion stirred up inside of me forced me to write this mess out, and try to assemble it in a coherent way for my own well-being. If not passion, then maybe just simply to serve as an example to others that mistakes are not always avoidable, and certainly not unhelpful to the one making them. The word mentor is defined as "a trusted friend, counselor or teacher, usually a more experienced person." A friend, counselor or teacher, or an experienced person are all good things. They almost all involve one common ingredient that make them great: mistakes.
I saw a de-motivational poster once that has stuck with me, and it bothered me then and still bothers me. It also bothers me that something like an image, meant to be funny, has stuck with me for so long in the context I see it in. Bottom line, it just plain bothers me. On despair.com, there is a poster titled "Mistakes", and the caption reads "It could be that the purpose of your life is only to serve as a warning to others." Wow! It even bothers me to type it. Could you accept that? Do you want to be known as a warning to others in any capacity? I have to admit, that is a fear of mine.
I am in a unique position to mentor others. It is a valuable position, one that I do not dismiss or take for granted, and when I find myself in tough circumstances where I do not feel like encouraging others or building others up or teaching others for their own benefit, it is that much harder to perform in that capacity. What to do. Do I just let raw emotion prevail and blast venom and negativity out all over any willing listener? After all, misery loves company, right? How does The National Enquirer stay in business if that is not true? When others are lifted up and elevated higher than ourselves, don't we all get a little satisfaction in their failures or mistakes? If you do, have you ever admitted it? I have an ugly streak that runs through me, and would be embarrassing and humiliating for that ugliness to become public for any one to see. Am I so different than any one else in that regard? My note is full of rhetorical questions. Questions I do not have the answers for either. These are the things, that are not written with passion, that seem to be leading me to write.
I suppose there are times when you hear something or see something you do not like that forces you to fall back on basic character traits in order to continue putting one foot in front of the other. I am stubborn. I am willing to fight just about any fight if the fight is just. Injustice is a HUGE pet-peeve of mine. I have a very difficult time these days watching the news programs on television. I even have extreme difficulty reading news on the internet or reading emails sent to me that deal with a sensitive subject that truly does matter. The reason? Those things tend to make me angry. A difference is something I have always thought I wanted to make in the world. In some ways, I feel like getting spun up on a subject that is just and right will just lead to further frustration because I believe I see the solution. I see it so clearly. It is obvious! Why doesn't everyone else see it??!! Get it? Good. Righteous anger is good, and it is the kind of anger that keeps good character motivated to find solutions. The problem with me is I end up letting injustice affect me far more than it should. That is just how I am wired.
As I said, I take my role as a mentor very seriously. I am responsible for raising a son and a daughter. I want justice for them in any and every situation. I am also responsible and entrusted by my company to make rational, level-headed choices and decisions to benefit colleagues and customers. When things do not go my way, which tends to happen when you are human, I do my very best not to let it affect those that I am responsible to mentor. I have no mistakes to admit or own up to here. Honestly, admitting mistakes here is not why I am writing. But, I surely do make my share of mistakes, and how I am choosing to react is one of those moments where I suppose I am serving as a warning to others. I flat out refuse to be a de-motivational joke!
A little while ago, I just put another footstep out in front of the other, and am focused on that one step at this particular moment. That one step made a difference, that I believe. That one step may have just been the single most important step I could have made today. I put away selfish desires for my own justice, and elevated someone else. Was it a hard pill to choke down? What do you think? Today was not promised to me. Today was a gift to me. My wife said recently that our generation is a generation full of "Lost boys." She did not mean it in a derogatory way toward me. She was stating something I believe to be true, and something that I want my son protected from or at least better equipped to handle. Her astute observation related to men today struggling with having to balance enormous pressures both at home and at work. Pressures to know who we are, to know *exactly* what we want to do with our lives, and pressures to know who, what, when where, why, and how at all times, at any cost, in any situation. Can you handle that kind of pressure? Pressures to perform in both capacities, at home and work, are enormous, to say the very least. It is as if we are expected to know how to handle those pressures without making mistakes. It is as though each of us were fully equipped with the knowledge or training on how to perform them before we were even born. Sometimes, I feel like I missed an important memo during pre-born training. Kind of like the way I feel about my Inbox when "important" email piles up into the hundreds of unread messages. Performing perfectly in a world where perfection is not attainable, but nevertheless expected, is overwhelming at times.
I often find it difficult to unplug from work, and immediately engage my role at home. In the past, I have had ample time to switch from one role to the other, but now, with the demands of my current work life, that buffer of time is almost non-existent. So one footstep at a time it shall be. I am not taking the month of June to adjust my tempo or my pace. I am not taking the second week of June or even this Wednesday to adjust. I am taking each moment, and doing my very best, which is not always good enough, to make each moment count for the better. I will not add injustice to injustice because I can not afford such behavior, and two wrongs do not make one right (oddly, they are making me write). I want my son to see his dad love his mom. To see his dad dote on his mom, hug his mom, speak kindly and complimentary to his mom. I want him to see his dad get up, go to work, take care of his family, and fight a good fight. I want my daughter to look for those traits in a future husband. Equipping them in these small ways will hopefully equip them to handle all the challenges they will surely one day face. I want my children and any one else I am entrusted to mentor to realize pressure will rise, they will make mistakes, and they will become better because of it all.
The word "if" comes to mind. "If I had unlimited time" or "If I had unlimited resources". Excuses will not help me in my role of mentor. One step in front of the last is the only option I have. Passion? Well, maybe I have passion. Maybe passion stirred up inside of me forced me to write this mess out, and try to assemble it in a coherent way for my own well-being. If not passion, then maybe just simply to serve as an example to others that mistakes are not always avoidable, and certainly not unhelpful to the one making them. The word mentor is defined as "a trusted friend, counselor or teacher, usually a more experienced person." A friend, counselor or teacher, or an experienced person are all good things. They almost all involve one common ingredient that make them great: mistakes.
The Pacific
I just finished episode 10 of 10 of the series The Pacific. I remember when Band of Brothers premiered in September 2001. I had watched the first episode just before leaving for my first trip to New York City to teach a class for Sun Microsystems. When I entered the Nasdaq building that first day to sign in at the security desk, I overheard the security guards talking about Band of Brothers and how much they enjoyed it. How real it seemed and how intense it was. I love that series and have watched it many times. I had been anticipating The Pacific with the same excitement for a long time because I knew that it would be both entertaining and that it would bring a somewhat real feeling to me about that part of World War II.
During one of the first episodes of The Pacific, you see a group of Marines scaling down the side of a troop transport to load into a Higgins boat. I noticed the two sailors in the back of the boat: one at the helm, the other managing the loading process. That scene struck me and I had to rewind and watch it a couple of times. It occurred to me that my dad was one of those sailors. Not during the month depicted in that scene, but not too long after and he was only 14 years old. He had lied about his age and joined the Navy while he was still 13. Pretty amazing.
I do not have a great deal of connection to my dad. He has always been somewhat aloof with me with regard to thoughts, real thoughts, and real feelings. He certainly has opinions and a lot of them, but his hopes, dreams, fears, mistakes, successes, they all remain somewhat hidden. That experience in the Pacific campaigns of World War II must have had a large part to do with his inability to express himself. Then again, so could losing his family at such a young age.
I watched young Marines board a boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, that knew they were likely not going to survive the next several minutes of their lives, and that same reality engulfs you as you watch this show as a bystander. My dad had to have had the same feelings. Maybe those thoughts or fears are as vast as the ocean, and maybe they are just big enough to keep a person isolated from those that long to know them. I have tried many times to discuss those events with my dad, but never received much information. I think there have been times when my dad has tried to reach out with the darkest of admissions about what haunted him the most, but, unfortunately, I think that those moments came at a time when we were at odds with one another and they may not have sounded like an attempt to gain understanding or build a bridge of communication. Difficulty in communicating seems to be a theme with those that deal with trauma. My dad and I have had difficulty in communicating with one another for a long time.
Not long after I became a father, I experienced my own version of trauma. I mentioned earlier that I taught a class in New York City in September 2001. When I arrived into New York, it was September 9, 2001. Monday was a pretty average and hectic day. Class started and off I went. It was my first time to teach the material I was there to present, and the whole day was a success. The saddest and worst part about it was that I was covering the class for a fellow instructor, who I had known, that died suddenly the previous week. Needless to say, the whole training center was already somber. Tuesday started off without much fanfare. I had breakfast and thought that Tuesday September 11, 2001 would be just like any other Tuesday. My assumption was that great weather and an easy walk from my hotel past the World Trade Center towers and down to my building was as exciting as it appeared things were going to get that day. You know what they say about assuming. Shortly after leaving the elevator and arriving into my classroom, I found out about the worst attack on U.S. soil since Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Imperial Japanese Navy nearly sixty years prior.
A few hours later, I found myself down on the sidewalk next to my building wondering how far out of my way I would have to walk to get back to my hotel. I knew I would have to avoid the World Trade Center towers, but assumed that getting back would not be a problem. Remember what I said about assumptions? Just as soon as I had said my goodbyes to my colleagues on the street with me, I heard a noise. This was not a normal New York City street noise. It sounded like a jet engine and it sounded like it was very near me and getting steadily louder and closer by the second. People began to scream and run in all directions forgetting they were running out into the middle of the busy street next to the building. I am not writing this to say I was brave, but I simply did not move. I felt an overwhelming feeling that if I ran, where would I run that would make the difference in survival if a jet airplane was indeed headed straight for me. You see, only moments prior, I had witnessed first-hand a jet airplane filled with real people hit a real building and create a rip in what I considered reality. I was now faced with that same reality again, only this time, I might have been in the path of an airplane flown by people hell bent on ending my life. Well, I am the one writing this note, so you know the ending, but the saddest ending of all was that sound I heard was not an airplane but World Trade Center tower 2 falling to the ground. A building I had been standing in the day before.
Sometime later, my dad said that we were the only two people in our family who had been in real combat. Say what you will, but that meant a lot to me in some grim way. I guess you could say it was a connection.
Years later, I once asked my dad where he drove a Higgins boat, and he told me in the Solomon Islands. When I pressed for a more specific location, he told me Guadalcanal. From what I understand from him, it was sometime around November of 1942, just after his 14th birthday. Most of the fighting that made the First Marine Division famous on Guadalcanal took place earlier around August, but I suspect it was just as dangerous toward the end of that year. I can not imagine being 14 years old and being asked to do what he did, not because he was drafted, not because he had an endorsement from the U.S. military that his age and stature in life made it appropriate, but because that is what he signed up to do, albeit unknowingly. I can not understand what life circumstance thrust him into a recruiting line ready to sign his life away at such a young age. I can only imagine the magnitude of what came next. My guess is he dealt with it as best he could until he received his honorable discharge two years later in November 1944 at 16 years old.
I have always had an interest in World War II. My wife thinks my interest in the military and military history has a far wider reach. As a child, I was firm in my intention to become a Marine. I used to buy and read "Fighting U.S. Marines" comic books when I was a kid. I wrote a letter to the Marine Corps when I was 13 asking for more information and how I could become a Marine. The very polite but firm response I received in return from a Marine recruiter stated "We appreciate your interest in the Marine Corps. Contact us when you are eighteen." I am sure that last part was written tongue in cheek. I have made some good choices in life and some bad ones too, but I did not enlist in the Marines or any other branch of the military. Young, stupid, rebellious kids do not always make the best decisions about their lives. I personally feel regret from that particular choice to this day. To some degree, my wife is probably right about my interest in the military. I do find all of the events and all of the history fascinating, but the older I have gotten I now think it is also an interest that helps me to connect with my dad.
My dad and I certainly do not talk in great detail about WWII. He is the "typical" veteran that has no interest in bringing it up. I say "typical" because I grew up in a small Arkansas town filled with men who had fought in World War II. Not one of them offered any information, but they did offer me a glimpse. That glimpse came not from words so much as going from a toothy grin and easy going demeanor to stone cold, bracing silence, and usually followed by a grim and short response. Their heads shaking off my questions with responses like "Aw, that was a terrible time and a terrible place. It is something I really do not like talking about." Out of respect, my questions would cease.
My whole childhood was spent playing "Army", wearing dad's old uniforms, adorning them with his medals and other badges. Pretending to be in combat with Nazi and Japanese soldiers. I guess every kid of every veteran does something similar just to be like dad. I do not know what he did or what he saw, but whatever it was, it was likely not something that made him want to talk about it and it certainly was not the romanticized spin that I put on it as a child. I do have one memory of dad coming clean once about a Japanese submarine causing him to lose some sleep. How it torpedoed a pier near the boat he was stationed on. I suppose that is not a real conversation starter or a great way to get the mood going in an upbeat direction.
Just after watching the first and second episodes of The Pacific, I had the opportunity to speak to my dad about what I had seen. I recognized quite a bit of historical accuracy. I brought up subjects from the show like areas of interest, island names, geographical landmarks, the names of Marines like Lewis "Chesty" Puller and John Basilone, actions and battles, and the like. I do not know if that made a difference, but my father makes some sort of connection with me when the topic arises in that particular way. When I choose not to drill into his specific memories, but the memories of that time, in a more general way, he seems to recollect in a warmer and more retrospective way.
My father is 43 years older than I am. When he was 12 or 13, he lost his mother. When he entered service in the U.S. Navy, he was 13. When he became a father he was not much more than 17 or 18. When he was nearly 20 years into his career as a Dallas Police officer, he became seriously injured while on duty and forced to retire from the only occupation he knew. All this as he became a father for the fourth time with me. I am not sure why his life was charted on such a drastically different course than my own, but I do now notice that there are far fewer instances where I feel I have that lost connection with him the older we get. I suppose time and rational thoughts tame our deepest fears and biggest regrets.
The battles I fight are on the battleground of who has the best software or hardware solution to run your business. We do not receive medals or have our names written in history books for our accomplishments. The best thing I can do is connect with my own son and daughter, and show them what it means to live life in an God honoring way. I have made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I am proud of my dad and am thankful he made it through the war in the Pacific. Never having said that in some way is a regret I refuse to live with.
During one of the first episodes of The Pacific, you see a group of Marines scaling down the side of a troop transport to load into a Higgins boat. I noticed the two sailors in the back of the boat: one at the helm, the other managing the loading process. That scene struck me and I had to rewind and watch it a couple of times. It occurred to me that my dad was one of those sailors. Not during the month depicted in that scene, but not too long after and he was only 14 years old. He had lied about his age and joined the Navy while he was still 13. Pretty amazing.
I do not have a great deal of connection to my dad. He has always been somewhat aloof with me with regard to thoughts, real thoughts, and real feelings. He certainly has opinions and a lot of them, but his hopes, dreams, fears, mistakes, successes, they all remain somewhat hidden. That experience in the Pacific campaigns of World War II must have had a large part to do with his inability to express himself. Then again, so could losing his family at such a young age.
I watched young Marines board a boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, that knew they were likely not going to survive the next several minutes of their lives, and that same reality engulfs you as you watch this show as a bystander. My dad had to have had the same feelings. Maybe those thoughts or fears are as vast as the ocean, and maybe they are just big enough to keep a person isolated from those that long to know them. I have tried many times to discuss those events with my dad, but never received much information. I think there have been times when my dad has tried to reach out with the darkest of admissions about what haunted him the most, but, unfortunately, I think that those moments came at a time when we were at odds with one another and they may not have sounded like an attempt to gain understanding or build a bridge of communication. Difficulty in communicating seems to be a theme with those that deal with trauma. My dad and I have had difficulty in communicating with one another for a long time.
Not long after I became a father, I experienced my own version of trauma. I mentioned earlier that I taught a class in New York City in September 2001. When I arrived into New York, it was September 9, 2001. Monday was a pretty average and hectic day. Class started and off I went. It was my first time to teach the material I was there to present, and the whole day was a success. The saddest and worst part about it was that I was covering the class for a fellow instructor, who I had known, that died suddenly the previous week. Needless to say, the whole training center was already somber. Tuesday started off without much fanfare. I had breakfast and thought that Tuesday September 11, 2001 would be just like any other Tuesday. My assumption was that great weather and an easy walk from my hotel past the World Trade Center towers and down to my building was as exciting as it appeared things were going to get that day. You know what they say about assuming. Shortly after leaving the elevator and arriving into my classroom, I found out about the worst attack on U.S. soil since Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Imperial Japanese Navy nearly sixty years prior.
A few hours later, I found myself down on the sidewalk next to my building wondering how far out of my way I would have to walk to get back to my hotel. I knew I would have to avoid the World Trade Center towers, but assumed that getting back would not be a problem. Remember what I said about assumptions? Just as soon as I had said my goodbyes to my colleagues on the street with me, I heard a noise. This was not a normal New York City street noise. It sounded like a jet engine and it sounded like it was very near me and getting steadily louder and closer by the second. People began to scream and run in all directions forgetting they were running out into the middle of the busy street next to the building. I am not writing this to say I was brave, but I simply did not move. I felt an overwhelming feeling that if I ran, where would I run that would make the difference in survival if a jet airplane was indeed headed straight for me. You see, only moments prior, I had witnessed first-hand a jet airplane filled with real people hit a real building and create a rip in what I considered reality. I was now faced with that same reality again, only this time, I might have been in the path of an airplane flown by people hell bent on ending my life. Well, I am the one writing this note, so you know the ending, but the saddest ending of all was that sound I heard was not an airplane but World Trade Center tower 2 falling to the ground. A building I had been standing in the day before.
Sometime later, my dad said that we were the only two people in our family who had been in real combat. Say what you will, but that meant a lot to me in some grim way. I guess you could say it was a connection.
Years later, I once asked my dad where he drove a Higgins boat, and he told me in the Solomon Islands. When I pressed for a more specific location, he told me Guadalcanal. From what I understand from him, it was sometime around November of 1942, just after his 14th birthday. Most of the fighting that made the First Marine Division famous on Guadalcanal took place earlier around August, but I suspect it was just as dangerous toward the end of that year. I can not imagine being 14 years old and being asked to do what he did, not because he was drafted, not because he had an endorsement from the U.S. military that his age and stature in life made it appropriate, but because that is what he signed up to do, albeit unknowingly. I can not understand what life circumstance thrust him into a recruiting line ready to sign his life away at such a young age. I can only imagine the magnitude of what came next. My guess is he dealt with it as best he could until he received his honorable discharge two years later in November 1944 at 16 years old.
I have always had an interest in World War II. My wife thinks my interest in the military and military history has a far wider reach. As a child, I was firm in my intention to become a Marine. I used to buy and read "Fighting U.S. Marines" comic books when I was a kid. I wrote a letter to the Marine Corps when I was 13 asking for more information and how I could become a Marine. The very polite but firm response I received in return from a Marine recruiter stated "We appreciate your interest in the Marine Corps. Contact us when you are eighteen." I am sure that last part was written tongue in cheek. I have made some good choices in life and some bad ones too, but I did not enlist in the Marines or any other branch of the military. Young, stupid, rebellious kids do not always make the best decisions about their lives. I personally feel regret from that particular choice to this day. To some degree, my wife is probably right about my interest in the military. I do find all of the events and all of the history fascinating, but the older I have gotten I now think it is also an interest that helps me to connect with my dad.
My dad and I certainly do not talk in great detail about WWII. He is the "typical" veteran that has no interest in bringing it up. I say "typical" because I grew up in a small Arkansas town filled with men who had fought in World War II. Not one of them offered any information, but they did offer me a glimpse. That glimpse came not from words so much as going from a toothy grin and easy going demeanor to stone cold, bracing silence, and usually followed by a grim and short response. Their heads shaking off my questions with responses like "Aw, that was a terrible time and a terrible place. It is something I really do not like talking about." Out of respect, my questions would cease.
My whole childhood was spent playing "Army", wearing dad's old uniforms, adorning them with his medals and other badges. Pretending to be in combat with Nazi and Japanese soldiers. I guess every kid of every veteran does something similar just to be like dad. I do not know what he did or what he saw, but whatever it was, it was likely not something that made him want to talk about it and it certainly was not the romanticized spin that I put on it as a child. I do have one memory of dad coming clean once about a Japanese submarine causing him to lose some sleep. How it torpedoed a pier near the boat he was stationed on. I suppose that is not a real conversation starter or a great way to get the mood going in an upbeat direction.
Just after watching the first and second episodes of The Pacific, I had the opportunity to speak to my dad about what I had seen. I recognized quite a bit of historical accuracy. I brought up subjects from the show like areas of interest, island names, geographical landmarks, the names of Marines like Lewis "Chesty" Puller and John Basilone, actions and battles, and the like. I do not know if that made a difference, but my father makes some sort of connection with me when the topic arises in that particular way. When I choose not to drill into his specific memories, but the memories of that time, in a more general way, he seems to recollect in a warmer and more retrospective way.
My father is 43 years older than I am. When he was 12 or 13, he lost his mother. When he entered service in the U.S. Navy, he was 13. When he became a father he was not much more than 17 or 18. When he was nearly 20 years into his career as a Dallas Police officer, he became seriously injured while on duty and forced to retire from the only occupation he knew. All this as he became a father for the fourth time with me. I am not sure why his life was charted on such a drastically different course than my own, but I do now notice that there are far fewer instances where I feel I have that lost connection with him the older we get. I suppose time and rational thoughts tame our deepest fears and biggest regrets.
The battles I fight are on the battleground of who has the best software or hardware solution to run your business. We do not receive medals or have our names written in history books for our accomplishments. The best thing I can do is connect with my own son and daughter, and show them what it means to live life in an God honoring way. I have made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I am proud of my dad and am thankful he made it through the war in the Pacific. Never having said that in some way is a regret I refuse to live with.
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