More reminiscence

(Note -- after a four-month blogging hiatus, I am back...this time, blogging at work.)

June 23, 1989: A trepidatious, 20-year-old man left his home in Tampa, Florida, bound for the U.S. Army's Basic Combat Training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Not having any idea what to expect, I endured the next eight weeks of training and conditioning and emerged a Soldier, ready to take on the myriad challenges the Army would throw at me. I even kept a journal of my experiences, which I'll someday type out and post here.

The only two people who saw me off at the airport that day were my mother, and the love of my life -- who was, at the time, three months pregnant with our firstborn. Two hellacious weeks of boot camp convinced me to do the right thing and marry the girl; I had finally worked up the nerve to ask her with 50 of my comrades in line behind me at the payphone booth, all yelling because I had taken up more than my allotted 10 minutes. For this particular weekly call, the haranguing was worth it. She of course said yes, and the rest is history.

Almost 19 years later, our son graduated from high school. My post-Basic training prevented me from being present for his entry into the world -- in fact, he was two weeks old at our wedding. This time, I would not miss his graduation for anything. After two days of waiting for a flight out of Kuwait in early May, I hitched a ride with a Reserve unit that left Iraq to finish their demobilization process at Fort Hood. I still had to rent a car and drive for 5 hours to Lawton, but at least I still made it home on Mother's Day.

On Father's Day, I returned to Kuwait for a second, consecutive year. Most people who know I have done this think I am crazy, and they're half right: I always tell them I love the searing heat and blowing sand that much. My closest friends know the consternation we went through, even coming agonizingly close to submitting my retirement paperwork when it looked like the assignment wouldn't come through (it took a General and four Colonels to make it happen). Our original plan was to move to Atlanta this summer, and look for my retirement job. But in the end, I decided to stay in for a while longer -- in one of our discussions, Lori told me whe wasn't ready for me to get out of the Army yet. She said she wanted to be married to a Lieutenant Colonel, to which I replied, "Ya got anyone else in mind?" It was not an easy decision, but it is one that my family and I are at total peace with.

When all is said and done, I will have been away from Lori and the kids for some 28 continuous months, minus all the leaves; 25 of those months will have been spent here in Kuwait. The benefits boil down to three things: (1) stability -- they stay where they are, and son #2 graduates from the same high school as his brother; (2) predictability -- returning to Fort Sill next year, I know with relative certainty where I'll be for the next three years; and (3) I am not with the last unit I was here with.

The old saying goes there are two best units in the Army: the one you just left, and the one you're going to. In my case, the one I just left is by far the worst I have ever experienced. Case in point: last week, I finally received my performance evaluation, and though the write-up was excellent, my pinheaded boss took one last chance to rake me over the coals -- six weeks after I left the unit.

My new job is night-and-day different from the last. I am a Battalion Executive Officer (or XO) , meaning I'm the Number 2 guy and I'm in charge of all the logistics and personnel adminstration for over 700 people. I have my own private office (as opposed to the cubicle Hell I had to endure before), a boss that gives me full rein, a staff that works for me, and my own room which is practically the Hilton compared to what I was in the previous 14 months. I can endure the heat and blowing sand (which was especially brutal last week) for another year, and if I thought for a second my marriage couldn't handle it, I wouldn't have volunteered. Lori and I have gotten pretty good at this long-distance relationship thing, and saying goodbye again last Saturday was tough -- especially to my precious little daughter. But as she reminded me last night on the phone, only 11 months and three weeks left until I come home for good!

(No more Saturday night spin-class teaching this time, though; I decided it would be better for me to focus my energies on the new job for now.)

Venturing into the unknown all those years ago was the best step in my life I ever took -- for me and for my family. Far more intrepid now, I'm more than ready to face the challenges of this next year, but this time I know what I'm getting into.


My three weeks at home were quite restful, and our vacation in Atlanta (while I outprocessed Fort McPherson) was fun. Pics will be posted at the link on the right.