Dadalogue Deployed: The future?

Eleven years ago this past Friday, I left for Marine Corps boot camp.

I was almost 21, joining after a failed attempt at college and a few jobs waiting tables. At the time, I needed the Marines. I wasn’t a misfit. I wasn’t bad. I lacked direction – just like most other 20-year olds.

I met a Marine reservist in a community college class I was taking. I had really never met a Marine before, and it intrigued me that this guy carried himself differently than most. Plus, he had options. Practically broke, living in a tiny apartment with two other roommates and desperate for the next phase of my life to begin, I decided to hear what this guy’s friend – a recruiter – had to say.

Some people may think my decision to join was rash. I was the kid who hung up on recruiters when they called my house during my high school years. I fit no mold that you would put a Marine into; I was lanky, not very aggressive, and a bit of a goof ball. I was 20, but I looked every bit of 15. But when I walked in to the recruiter’s office they didn’t have to do much convincing to get me to join.

I’m not sure exactly what sold me so quickly. It could’ve been all the cool posters on the wall, the sharp uniforms, and the lava monster commercial they showed me (I hope that’s the right link – YouTube is blocked here). Realistically, it was God banging me over the head, saying “THIS IS WHERE YOU NEED TO BE.” I signed the dotted line pretty quickly.

I’ve been serving for a third of my life now. The Marine Corps has done a lot to shape and mold me into who I am today. The opportunities I’ve had and the things I’ve seen most people don’t see in a life time.

The far-from-complete list:

I’ve have interviewed countless 4-star generals, two secretaries of state (Madeleine Albright and Condoleezza Rice), two secretaries of defense (Donald Rumsfeld and Robert Gates), traveled to Africa and saw what we’re doing to help tribes in Ethiopia, stood on an oil terminal in the Persian Gulf where most of Iraq’s revenue flowed (at the time, the terminals there generated $18,000 a second), climbed Mt. Fuji in Japan, flown in a helicopter over the Alaskan wilderness, landed on and launched off an aircraft carrier, patrolled in Afghanistan, responded to Hurricane Katrina, jumped out of an airplane, hung out with music and movie celebrities, flown on Air Force Two (twice), received three Emmy nominations, and met the woman who is now and forever my wife.

I’ve met people and developed friendships that will last a lifetime. The people who serve and those civilians who work with the military are some of the most caring, genuine people I know.

I could’ve not signed the contract. “Do you want fries with that?”

It’s not all a rose garden though.

The hardest part is the separation from my family. I’ve missed Christmases, Thanksgivings, birthdays, and in a few days, an anniversary. In 11 years, I’ve moved 9 times. I am missing out on watching my kids grow up. I haven’t had a hug in 2 and a half months.

I’m thankful for the opportunities, the experiences, and all the wonderful people I’ve met, but I’m starting to think it’s time to go. I used to live for the experiences I listed above. I used to beg to be sent on trips to go cover stories. I didn’t want to stay still. I wanted to LIVE.

That definition has changed for me.

Living now is waking up on a Sunday morning and making breakfast for my family. Living is a hot cup of coffee and good conversation with my wife – face-to-face, not on FaceTime. Living is tickling Grace until she and I laugh so hard it hurts. Living is seeing the smile my son makes. Living is saying goodnight to someone and then waking up next to them to say good morning.  Living is “I love you.”

God is calling me in a different direction, I believe. Unlike the clarity He gave me when I joined the Marine Corps 11 years ago, this time, I’m not sure where. There’s so many gaping holes in a future post-Marine Corps, and that’s scary. I know that’s why many people stick it out until retirement. Some are afraid they won’t make it anywhere else.  I feel the same way. Why would I give up all I’ve earned to start at the bottom somewhere else in a civilian job without the security and benefits the Marine Corps affords?

Who’s to say that the qualifications I’ve developed over the years would even translate fully into a civilian career? Sure, I write, I produce, I create, but I have no degree. I’ve focused too much on the cool experiences the Marine Corps offered that I didn’t listen when they offered college. Am I foolish for even thinking starting anew is a wise decision? I wrestle with that daily now. Isn’t putting food on the table and shoes on their feet more important than seeing my kids every day? Six-month and year-long deployments only come up every few years, anyway.

I serve in an organization that protects the right to the American Dream, yet I feel it’s just out of my grasp.

I am a different person than the kid standing in the recruiter’s office 11 years ago. Priorities and desires change. The Marine Corps has given me a lot, and I feel I’ve given a lot in return.

I’m just wondering if it’s time for us to shake hands and go our separate ways.

Dadalogue Deployed: Care package!

I think the excitement of getting a care package here in Afghanistan is similar to a 6-year-old on Christmas morning. 

There’s anticipation when you see that shipping box all taped up – don’t look at the customs form though, or you’ll ruin your own surprise – wondering what’s inside. You tear the tape off the top, not trying to save the box, just what’s inside. And then there’s the burst of joy when you see that you got exactly what you wanted.

I got my first care package from my wife and kids this week, and it was a happy day.

There was coffee of the Dunkin Donuts variety, a set of sheets, a nice pillow, a motorcycle magazine, and a card.

BUT …

There were a couple things even more special.

Grace and Timothy both made artwork for me. First, it was flower painting where their hands and feet were the buds and leaves. Grace’s didn’t have leaves because she wouldn’t put her feet in the paint. But she also did an abstract painting with a “We miss you Daddy” message included. Even the wife got into the art projects, sending me a page of a coloring book that she had colored herself.

The final item was one that will continue to grow while I’m out here. The wife started a scrapbook of everything happening back home with her and the kids. Every month, she’ll send a new page. The first one was photos of the kids playing with each other and doing their daily routine – Timothy learning how to crawl, and Abigail working on her best Rembrandt impersonation.  It’s great to watch them grow. I wish I was there to see it in person.

After going through everything in the box, my day, which wasn’t that bad to begin with, ended on a great note. The thoughtfulness and, well, care that went in to the care package I got is another example of how I feel like the most blessed man in the world.

Dadalogue Deployed: Another week down

Another week down in Afghanistan.

In some respects the days seem to be going by faster. This week and the last have flown by. In other respects it seems like I’ve been here an eternity. The reality is it’s only been 2 months.

I think this phenomenon comes depending on what time of day it is. If it’s the day time, and I’m working, I stay so busy and focused that when I look up, 12 hours have passed. I go back to my tent, hop on FaceTime (when the Internet cooperates) and try talking with the wife and kids.

I see Grace dancing around the house, singing songs, and talking a mile a minute. Her vocabulary and ability to communicate is far more advanced then when I last saw her. Timothy, the little baby boy I held in my arms and who did little more than slept all day, is now crawling and trying to keep up with his big sister. He’s not so little anymore. Grace looks more and more like a little lady and less like a baby every time I see her on during video chats. Timothy waves and sits up on his own and feeds himself.

Two months. And that’s all happened.

It is fun to watch though. The Wife has sent plenty of pictures and videos. She even caught Timothy’s first crawl on video. Even though I wasn’t there, I was still happy to be able to see it. I probably watched that short clip a dozen times when I first got it. Way to go, kiddo!

Yes, my family is doing great things. Growing, learning, and handling the separation as well as anyone could expect. True, I am a little jealous that I’m physically not there to see everything happen and be a direct part in it, but I am happy that time hasn’t stood still either – everyone is trying to be as normal as possible.

I just hope though that when I close my eyes tonight and wake up tomorrow, 10 months will have passed.

Dadalogue deployed: Eating with the Afghans

Greetings from the other side of the world.

It’s been a good week, although the days seem to run together. I though Friday was Sunday, Saturday was Tuesday. What day it is doesn’t really matter though. Except Sundays. I get to sleep in a little bit and go to work a little later. Then there’s church in the evening. It’s Palm Sunday today, the start of the most holy week, so I’ll be extra sure not to miss it.

On this Palm Sunday I am thinking about my family too. Every year, on Palm Sunday or Easter, for the past 7 years or so, my grandmother has treated our family to a large lunch at this restaurant and Inn near my hometown.

To say the meals are delectable is an understatement. They are simply the best meals I’ve ever eaten. 

This year, I’ll miss the warm popovers with lemon curd and the special Sunday menu the chef 

prepares. Last year it was ostrich tenderloin for me. Other years I’ve had bison steak, duck, and lamb. The lobster bisque has chunks of meat floating in it. I’ve never forgotten a meal we’ve eaten there.

The building is an old historic landmark with fireplaces in every room. When we start going, it was only a handful of us: my grandmother (Mom Mom), my parents, sister, my aunt and uncle, and my great uncle. I’ve brought a friend before, a fellow Marine, and my sister brought a couple people from time to time too. But, the immediate family has certainly grown over the last several years.

My sister got married. Then the next year, her first born was there. Then I got married. Then we had a child. Then my sister had another baby. This year will be our 9-month-old Timothy’s first time. Next year, my sister will have another one. We’ve grown so much as a family, they have to give us a whole room to ourselves. It’s probably better that way too. We like to laugh.

I’ll miss it this year. It may be “Southern cooking day” at the chow hall today – which means some kind of boiled meat slathered in BBQ sauce – but it doesn’t hold a candle to the pheasant my wife says she’s going to have this year. Ohh, and crème brule. They have the best crème brule.

Of course, the time there isn’t just about amazing food. It’s about amazing time with family. The conversations and the time spent with them are just as memorable. I miss them all dearly, and my thoughts and prayers are with them constantly.

But, since this post has become more of a foodie blog today, I’m going to continue that trend to recap the highlight of my week: lunch with Afghans.

Every week at this forward operating base I’m now at we get to break bread with our Afghan National Army counterparts. They host the meal. And it’s authentic.

We walked over their compound where they escorted us into their chow hall – three long rows of benches with a huge spread on the tables. Each place setting had real silverware and plates (the chow hall is paper and plasticware). In the middle were silver platters piled high with spiced rice and baskets of fried potatoes. Little bowls of what I’m almost positive was goat meat were laid out for each person. And there was orange soda. Afghans seem to love their soft drinks.

That lunch was the best food I’ve eaten since getting here.

The conversation with our Afghans was a little difficult, having to speak through interpreters, but the non-verbal communication said it all. They love having us here. They are truly grateful for the attention and help we’re giving them. Yes, our cultures are completely different. Yes, we do things differently. But, there is a mutual connection of making this place better than it was 10 years ago.

The Afghans who serve are extremely patriotic and proud of what they do. They see their service, just like us who wear a U.S. uniform, as a privilege and an honor. Afghans are not bad people. The insurgents who fight us and torment the citizens of this country are. Most Afghans don’t want them around either. And many are proving that by wearing the military uniform of their country.

I’ve known this for a while. I don’t just read the news reports from mainstream media. I seek out the other news, and I see the other side of the story firsthand.

Don’t believe me? Come to Afghanistan and see for yourself.

And have a meal with them.

Whether it’s with family or with complete strangers – nothing unifies a group of people and creates wonderful memories quite like sitting down at a table full of food and eating together.

How to be a Deployed Dad #1

One of my greatest worries about deploying was my ability to be involved in my children’s lives. I’ve written here before that my wife and I feel we are a strong enough couple to handle long-term separation having done it once before for a six-month stretch in 2008 - 2009. But, kids? They add a whole new dimension to being away.

Thank God for the USO.

They’ve made it possible to be that presence at home even though I am 7,000 miles away. They have this program called United Through Reading which exists to continue the ritual of reading to your kids. This is my favorite time of day with Grace and Timothy; I was probably most emotional about leaving them when I read “Goodnight Moon” to Grace on the last night before leaving.

With United Through Reading I was able to pick a book out of the library inside the USO, sit in front of a camera (in a comfy chair), and record myself reading to my kids. Of course, I added a little special message at the end just for them. The first book I read to them is my personal favorite, “Guess How Much I Love You” by Sam McBratney. It’s one of Grace’s favorites too, and I hope Timothy grows to love it as much as we do.  When I was done the USO staff packed up the recording (which is on DVD) and they’ll mail it back to the USO headquarters in Virginia. Volunteers will marry the recording up with a copy of the book for the kids and mail it off to them. They’ll have it in about a month. I can do this as often as I wish. All for free.

How cool is that?!

I’ve said it before (maybe not on this blog, but I have) that the USO, hands-down, is my favorite secular non-profit. Someday I will repay them for all they’ve done for me and my family, whether it’s through my time or financially or both. They really have a fantastic organization and mission.

I’m going to keep looking and posting ways deployed dads (and moms) can stay involved and lessen the difficulty of separation. Please share your ideas if you’ve gone through this too! You can post in the comments below or e-mail me at dadalogue@gmail.com.

In other news, I still haven’t adjusted to the time difference. My sleep is still messed up, so I’m wide away by 4:30 am. That has to change soon or I won’t be able to work without industrial barrel-sized amounts of coffee.

Finally, keep e-mailing me those prayer requests for my prayer runs! I’ll keep everything confidential, so you can tell me as much or as little as you want. Even if it’s just a line that says “Pray for me,” I will. God knows your heart and he’ll answer.

Deployed. The First Days and Prayer Runs

Well, Dadalogue is now deployed. A couple days down and many more to go.

Impressions so far?

This isn’t my grandfather’s war. Goodness, for one thing, I’m blogging on the Internet several hundred miles away from developed civilization. Not only that, but there’s coffee shops (yes, plural), a barber shop nicer than the one I go to in California, and post exchanges that have variety that rivals Wal-Mart. Well, that last one is an exaggeration, but still you must answer the question, “What flavor Pringles to you want?”

The two chow halls I’ve been to have variety, and most of it is pretty good so far. It’s not home cookin’, but it’ll do. Get this: Yesterday I made my own Panini for lunch. Crazy. A hot pressed roast beef and provolone cheese sandwich in a combat zone. The novelty supposedly wears off soon though. I am told that in a couple weeks I’ll be able to know what day it is based solely on the chow hall menu. Tuesdays, for example, are Bang Bang shrimp nights. Thursdays are Oriental nights. Every. Single. Week.

My initial reaction to this cushy lifestyle is guilt. Two reasons. First, there are servicemembers in this country eating tray rations and MREs (Meals-Ready-to-Eat) every day. They’re lucky to get one decent hot meal or shower once every few months. I’ve had three squares a day and hot showers since I’ve been here. Second, I almost feel as if I’m pulling a fast one on the American public. I think there’s this impression that the conditions here are worse than they really are for most of us. The excessiveness of stuff on this base is a bit embarrassing. Except for those who are beyond the confines of bases like the one I’m at, we have it – dare I say – too well.

On the other hand, maybe there’s a reason for it. It sure is nice to know that there are familiar comforts of home within walking distance. Taxpayer money doesn’t pay for it all which helps ease the guilty mind. And those who have the opportunity to come in briefly from the combat outposts deserve all of this and more.

The wife and kids seem to be doing well. I’ve been able to video chat with them a few times. Grace loves seeing me on Skype, shouting “Daddy!” almost the whole time we chat. I was able to watch as she said “draw kitty” and proceeded to go to her art easel to scribble a “kitty cat” on the butcher paper. I saw Timothy in his highchair, food all over his face, smiling from ear to ear and waving his arms when he saw me. It warms the heart to see those magnificent children God has blessed me and the Wife with.

Speaking for God, final thought – and it involves you:

As I was running today I was praying. That got me to thinking about all the people who are praying for me. The power of prayer is amazing (I’ve seen its effects firsthand too many times to count) and I know there are whole churches that have me on their prayer list (thanks to Grandma, Mom Mom, and our church families back in California and where we lived in Virginia for a while). Well, I want to pray for you too. Send me your requests through e-mail (dadalogue@gmail.com), and every morning I will go on what I’ll call a Prayer Run. I won’t stop running until I’ve brought all the requests before God. Pass the word. If I have to run a marathon every day, I will.

Yes, there’s all this cool stuff: creature comforts, good food, hot showers, but I can’t think of a better way to stay positive and close to home than praying for the people I love.

What I miss as a dad separated from his family

Do you know what the best thing about being away from your family is?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

At first, the idea of some peace and quiet was nice. A stay-cation of sorts. I could be on my own schedule, and watch what I wanted on TV. No more Yo Gabba Gabba for this dad. I could eat peanut butter straight out of the jar. I didn't have to wake up in the middle of the night for anything. I could let the dishes sit in the sink. There was no one to tell me what to do. This was all pretty cool.

For like an hour.

After that, I started craving things like a little girl running into the room with her blanket to climb up and snuggle on the couch with me. I crave giggles, smiles, laughs, coos, and yes, even crying. I crave my old routine. I crave reading the same book three times in a row before bed. I crave Goodnight Moon and goodnight kisses. I crave hugs. I crave little babies sleeping in my arms. I crave changing diapers. Well, lets be honest, maybe not that. I could do without changing diapers. But I crave those little ones that make such big messes. I crave hearing battery-operated children's toys that sing the ABC's and count to ten in Spanish. I crave talking to my wife face to face. I crave holding her hand. I crave seeing her when I walk in the door coming home from work. I crave having her close at night. I crave her poking me awake to go rock our son back to sleep. I crave giving her sleepy head a goodbye kiss in the morning. I crave leftovers for lunch.

I crave what I'm missing.

On my way to work I got a call from The Wife and Grace. Our almost two-year-old was excited to tell me that she "went pee pee in the potty." This was a first. I, of course, want to be there for that. Or at least hear about it in person. But, that's obviously not possible. I can't stop time. I can't tell Grace to stay little until I get back. I can't tell Timothy to not crawl and walk until I can cheer him on. I have to encourage them and cheer them on over the phone or through the computer.

Those video chats we do regularly keep me smiling. My daughter is learning quickly how to interact with me over the computer. We laugh and giggle and act silly just like if we were together. She couldn't wait to show me how she does the Hokey Pokey. Timothy is learning how to wave and clap. It's all fun to watch, and those chats are the highlight of my day.

But of course, there are dinners to make, baths to be had, and bedtime for little ones. The call has to end at some point. And when it does, our now empty house is once again quiet. And I go back to eating peanut butter straight from the jar.