6 Years Old

I think the hardest parts for me here are stories about children.

For some reason they always seem to be 6 years old. Maybe it’s because Sarah’s 6 and I only hear the age when they’re briefed. It’s not always what you see on TV—sometimes it’s the bad guys using them to help the bad guys, sometimes (well, actually, always) they’re innocent victims, sometimes they’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time. As far as helping the bad guys I really think if I told Sarah that Santa Clause was a bad guy she would believe me and do whatever I asked of her to help stop him. I wish I could go into specifics on what I get to see but I can’t. Suffice it to say that if I end up waking up at night when I go home it will be because of these kids.

I remember the first time I yelled at Sarah. I think she was 2 or just under. She had dug into the kitchen cabinet and gotten into a box of dry food (I think it was rice). We had scolded her many times for getting nosy like toddlers do but of course she didn’t listen like toddlers don’t. Amidst her digging the box of rice fell out onto the kitchen floor and spilled everywhere. I don’t know why I lost my temper (it’s happened many times since) but I guess my voice was louder than it had ever been up to that point in her life because she jumped. Without crying or running she squatted down on her haunches and feebly began trying to pick the rice up with her hands to put it back in the box, except her fingers were too small to grab even a grain of rice. I felt smaller than she was. I have tears in my eyes writing this now and that was almost 5 years ago.

What motivates a person to bring something as precious as that into the front lines of a war? Most of them don’t have a choice—again being in the wrong circumstances. But to willfully use a child as a “soldier” in your own sadistic and twisted war…that, like many of the things I see the insurgents do, I can’t understand.

Airport

Ok, so maybe that was little bit too over the top.

I’m sorry, but I was pissed.

Got to go see some culture last night, in the form of going to Doha International Airport. Believe it or not, it was the first time I saw the other side of the gate. I’m hoping to be able to go downtown at some point. Anyway—I went there to pick up a guy from his R&R mid-tour trip (guys that are here for a year get to go home about halfway through for a couple of weeks). As I was waiting for him in the arrivals area I got to take a good look at the local populace. They were exactly like what you’d see in the movies—long white or colored robes, head coverings, and sandals for the most part. Some of the women wore the complete traditional garb—covered from head to toe where all you could see was their eyes and their hands. As I was standing there, my first thoughts were how weird everyone looked. After a short time though, I looked at my outfit—grey t-shirt, khaki cargo pants and leather shoes.

So who really looked weird here?

And then some morons get off the plane. They were clearly western, and sounded like they had a British accent. The girl had about 72 piercings in every spot visible. The guy had hot pink hair. They were loud, boisterous, and apparently loved the attention. I was mortified to be identified as a westerner standing there, since I was positive that the hundreds of Qatari’s there would associate me with them. I wanted to get up on a stall and scream at the top of my lungs “I AM NOT LIKE THEM!!”

Sometimes Freedom has its downsides, I suppose.

Dean

Ok. Time for another rant.

Howard Dean gave an interview in, of all places, San Antonio yesterday in which he (in his infinite wisdom and judgment, as evidenced in his election run) gave his views on the war and what we are doing here in particular. What he said on there was tantamount to a slice to the throat of the guys fighting uprange. Included in the crap he spewed forth:

"I've seen this before in my life. This is the same situation we had in Vietnam. Everybody then kept saying, 'just another year, just stay the course, we'll have a victory.' Well, we didn't have a victory, and this policy cost the lives of an additional 25,000 troops because we were too stubborn to recognize what was happening."

You know, before I came here I didn’t know what we were doing. I didn’t know the strategy that was being utilized. But since I’ve had the privilege of being here (incidentally, has Howard Dean even come to this side of the planet recently?) I know what we’re doing. I know why we’re here. And it absolutely INFURIATES me that jackasses like him say things like this when there are troops from his OWN STATE fighting and dying here with the only hope to continue being that the leadership at home supports them and what they are doing. You absolutely cannot compare this to Vietnam. It is a completely different situation. But wait, he goes on:

"I think we need a strategic redeployment over a period of two years," Dean said. "Bring the 80,000 National Guard and Reserve troops home immediately. They don't belong in a conflict like this anyway. We ought to have a redeployment to Afghanistan of 20,000 troops, we don't have enough troops to do the job there and it’s a place where we are welcome. And we need a force in the Middle East, not in Iraq but in a friendly neighboring country to fight (terrorist leader Musab) Zarqawi, who came to Iraq after this invasion. We've got to get the target off the backs of American
troops.”

What, in the name of all that is holy, is he talking about as an expert on military affairs? He has absolutely NO military experience. And why exactly it is that Guard and Reservists don’t belong in a conflict like this anyway? I’m sure that the victories they’ve attained and hard work they’ve done, never mind the injuries they’ve sustained, are a demonstration that they don’t belong here. I, for one, am damn glad they’re here. As far as re-deploying to Afghanistan, on what planet does he think that we’d be more welcome there than in any other middle-eastern country? I wish I could pass on to him the details of what I have seen. We are no more welcome there than in Iraq. By saying that he is just demonstrating his complete ignorance of what is going on here. And as far as a target on their backs, my man—you have just made the target all the more clear for the insurgents.

The reason we lost in Vietnam is partially due to the fact that the bad guys had one strategy—maintain a will to fight longer than the American people will. Every time we gain a victory here and push the bad guys back some assclown like this guy announces his complete ignorance to the world at the expense of American soldiers. As a result, I think this only emboldens the insurgents. This is what they have been waiting for. This is what they want, for morons to step up and start pleading their case to the American public. If we leave now, the target will not be so much on the backs of American troops as it will be on the backs of American people everywhere.

What makes this even more dangerous is that this idiot is the de facto LEADER OF THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY. What they (and mind you, I don’t think the Republican Party, or politicians in general, are too spectacular either) want is a timeline to get out. If we had set a timeline in World War II Hitler would never have quit. Millions more would have died, since all they had to do was wait it out until that “magic date” that we had set to get out. That’s all they’re waiting for. For our will to fight to collapse. In a couple of weeks the Iraqis will have their own elections. The media doesn’t often connect the military with the elections (I guess they are just sort of “happening” up there) and they fail to mention that if we were not here, those elections would not happen.

Dean’s counterpart in the GOP, Mr. Ken Mehlman, had a good counter:

"I can't remember any time in history where the leader of a national party, one of our two national parties, predicted that America would lose a war we were engaged in. I think it sends the wrong message to our troops, the wrong message to the enemy, the wrong message to the Iraqi people."

Yes it does.

American politicians that are as reckless as this are endangering the lives of American soldiers.

Christmas Story

I walked outside this morning to find fog so thick that I couldn’t see ten feet in front of my face. By the time I had taken a shower it had lifted enough that it was about 10 feet above me. It was like walking under the bases of the clouds I used to fly under. Pretty surreal.

When I was 10 years old I wrote a story about a midnight meeting between myself and Santa Clause on Christmas Eve. I can’t remember all the details but it was centered around how Christmas wasn’t wrapped in presents but was the magic of being with friends and family. It was only a few pages long but I kept it for quite a while. 10 years later I wrote a sequel to it, now from the eyes of a 20-year old college student. This one was considerably longer, with my concerns being that the magic that he had described was leaving me because of the vast separation that had split my family apart—my grandparents and aunt had moved to Florida, we had moved to Virginia, and my sister and I had gone off to college. His answer this time was to take me on a journey through the past ala “A Christmas Carol.” We flew through time on his sleigh to my childhood home in a city in Massachusetts, to my grandparent’s house in the same city, and then finally to a more recent one at my grandparent’s house in Florida when I had a conversation with my late sister Jenny as the Christmas bells rang through the night from midnight mass. It still is probably the best writing I have ever done in my life.

I often wonder what Santa would say to me today, more than 10 years after I wrote that story. Christmas at home, or at least the season, brings with it a lot more stress and burden than was there way back then. I have kids of my own now, and it has been years since I have seen my grandmother and aunt. I see my parents every 6 months or so, but for all intents and purposes the holidays for all of us just aren’t the same as they were before. And now this Christmas I won’t be with any of them, my family or extended family. I find myself year after year saying that “next Christmas will be better” since we are always either on the road or rushed at the last minute to try and give the kids whatever they ask Santa for. Last year we were living out of our car since we were moving from Del Rio, TX, to Tucson, AZ over the holiday. I made the mistake then of saying “what a sucky Christmas” to myself while on a stopover at my brother-in-law’s on Christmas Eve. Obviously at the time I didn’t know where I would be this year.

I think it’s a good time for Santa to visit me again.

Darts at the Muff

The officer’s club here is a British bar affectionately (and also clearly not American-like, since whoever named a bar this would be charged with sexual harassment) called “The Muff Inn.” This place is one of the coolest bars I think I’ve ever been in, even if there is a 3-drink limit whenever you go there. All it is, essentially, is a medium-sized tent that people have, over the years, decorated with whatever they had from their prospective countries and made into a bar. It is run purely by volunteers, usually low-ranking officers (Lt’s and a few Captains), and only open a few days a week.

When I got here one of my goals (along with learning to play the harmonica—we saw how far THAT went) was to increase my proficiency in shooting pool. The last couple of weeks before I came here I spent hours upon hours shooting pool with my Dad in my parent’s basement drinking copious amounts of Bud Light. I was surprised how quickly I got better (though he still managed to kick my ass every time). So, upon arrival here, I figured I would take that momentum and keep going. Unfortunately, the pool tables here kind of suck after being used so much. So my buds (Jason “Santini” Smith and Brian “Magnum” Hard) and I started throwing darts. Good for us—the Muff has their own dart board. We have progressively gotten better over the past three months, to the point that we rarely lose—except to one guy.

On Saturday I stopped by the Muff for my standard couple of hours of darts. Brandon Hevron, an Army dude that I’ve gotten to be pretty good friends with, is virtually unstoppable at this game. On this particular night, however, he sucked. To make matters worse, I can’t just sit back and watch him lose—I have to heckle him the entire time. Eventually, he got pissed off enough that he demanded I play him one-on-one, instead of the normal team format we play. I did, and in only about 10 minutes, cleaned his clock. Granted, on any other given night I wouldn’t have stood a chance—but the defining moment came and I defined it.

Sometimes memories are presenting themselves here that I won’t soon forget.

News Mention

I was mentioned (albeit briefly) in a news story about milbloggers by NewsMax.com. Read it here.

Milblogging.com, which has been charting the phenomenon for some time, currently has registered 815 military blogs in 22 countries. It wasn't long ago that the number was just 50.

Some of the names are colorful enough: "MY WAR: Killing Time in Iraq," "Who's Your Baghdaddy?" "Combat Medic in Iraq," "Middle of Nowhere and Two Feet from Hell," and "Desert Odyssey….."

J

Sunday Recap

The question has been posed by several readers as to what I am going to do with this blog after I go home. The answer is currently a big “I Don’t Know.” I imagine I’d like to keep this going for at least as long as it takes for me to get readjusted back home, if that is ever fully going to happen. I would love to have even marginal success as a regular blogger, but I just don’t see my life or activities as something others would be interested in. As most of my family knows, I am notoriously bad at keeping in touch with really anyone—so maybe this place will be a place for us to meet. I don’t know. As I’ve said, I love writing. I’m open to suggestion.

I’m not sure if I mentioned it earlier but I got to see pictures of my inbound son this week via sonogram. Definitely a boy. I can’t wait to see what he looks like.

Sunday’s are usually pretty slow around here, so I’m going to try to start doing a weekly recap of anything that I’ve seen online that was interesting. I’ll try to avoid doing the standard news and political stuff and stick to well just things that have caught my eye.

The Opinionator: My Hero Takes a Fall

Kevin Sites in the Hot Zone: Saddam’s Shop of Horrors

The Washington Post: Blast in Pakistan Kills Al Qaeda Commander

Black Five: The Post That Started It All

A Soldier’s Perspective: Cindy’s Book Signing Flop

Lastly, stop by and check out the Milbloggies for 2005, and maybe toss a vote or two my way. Not like I’m a threat to the Mudville Gazette, but it would be nice to know that more than 2 people have liked reading my words J.

Freedom

A problem that a lot of the anti-war protesters have is their concept of freedom.

When we talk about how we’re over here “fighting for freedom” some people disagree because they don’t see how Americans fighting over here is defending their freedom. When they speak about what is worth fighting and dying for, if it goes outside america’s borders, then it is not of our concern. And to be honest with you, this global war on terrorism is only partially a defense of American freedom. Call me a naïve optimist, but I see our role in Iraq, the global war, and the planet itself as much higher and much nobler than that. I don’t see us so much as defending a particular country’s freedom but defending freedom for the human race as a whole. Take the borders of countries out of the picture—for a moment imagine that we are, in fact, one world, one civilization. If Rhode Island was being oppressed, I highly doubt that the other 49 states would say that it wasn’t worth their sons and daughters lives to defend their right to freedom. The Iraqi people, as human beings, have the right to freedom. All people on the planet share this right. We have the responsibility not only as the world’s only superpower but also as human beings to defend their right to freedom. This is the burden that we have as a result of the lives we have been gifted by God to have—to ensure that others have the same opportunity to exercise this right. The fact that others won’t jump in with as much sacrifice and commitment as we have is irrelevant in my eyes. If we turn our backs and leave others to the mercy of evil people whose hatred drives them to kill children on the streets to prevent this opportunity, then we have diminished our worthiness to this right ourselves.

As most of you know I’m not a big proponent of quoting polticians—even when said politician happens to be the Commander-in-Chief. However, the speech he gave a couple of days ago at the US Naval Academy had a lot in it that mirrors my views of the war and what our goals and objectives are, and consequently what our strategy should be. I’ve only taken a few of the statements in order to keep this short:

“This is an enemy without conscience -- and they cannot be appeased. If we were not fighting and destroying this enemy in Iraq, they would not be idle. They would be plotting and killing Americans across the world and within our own borders. By fighting these terrorists in Iraq, Americans in uniform are defeating a direct threat to the American people. Against this adversary, there is only one effective response: We will never back down. We will never give in. And we will never accept anything less than complete victory.

Setting an artificial deadline to withdraw would send a message
across the world that America is a weak and an unreliable
ally. Setting an artificial deadline to withdraw would send a signal to our enemies -- that if they wait long enough, America will cut and run and abandon its friends. And setting an artificial deadline to withdraw would vindicate the terrorists' tactics of beheadings and suicide bombings and mass murder -- and invite new attacks on America. To all who wear the uniform, I make you this pledge: America will not run in the face of car bombers and assassins so long as I am your
Commander-in-Chief.

One of those fallen heroes is a Marine Corporal named Jeff Starr,
who was killed fighting the terrorists in Ramadi earlier this year. After he died, a letter was found on his laptop computer. Here's what he wrote, he said, "[I]f you're reading this, then I've died in Iraq. I don't regret going. Everybody dies, but few get to do it for something as important as freedom. It may seem confusing why we are in Iraq, it's not to me. I'm here helping these people, so they can live the way we live. Not [to] have to worry about tyrants or vicious dictators. Others have died for my freedom, now this is my mark.

There is only one way to honor the sacrifice of Corporal Starr and
his fallen comrades -- and that is to take up their mantle, carry on their fight, and complete their mission.”

What's a Blog?

Warning--the link on here may not (ok, it isn't) be suitable for children.

As I have been venturing out into the blogosphere I am finding out more and more that blogs aren't exactly what I thought they were. I thought blogs were, in general, like journals--you write whatever is coming to mind for you on that day, share photos, and maybe someone is interested in what is going on in your life. An example of what I thought it was (and here's a BIG warning--this woman is a bit on the "risque" side) is at "Bored Housewife." She is definitely proud of herself, has some serious feminist issues, and likes showing off a herself a lot, but her writing is exceptional (from the two or three posts I read). As far as the written content goes, that's kind of what I imagined this place being a ways back, or maybe what it will become after I leave here.

What I have found, instead, is that most of the bigger blogs, or the more popular ones, are simply recaps of the news, or of other blogs--there's not a whole lot of real creativity in them. Now I'm not bashing them--they are the reason that I ended up getting as many hits as I have in the past few months--because I read them every day and they certainly have their value. They just seem to read a lot like a newspaper to me. I've always wanted to write a book, to really explore whatever creativity I have that I would be able to mystically put on paper. I wrote a lot when I was younger, but those words never really meant anything or were even seen by anyone outside my own family. The blogs that I have seen become the most successful aren't exactly journals--they're like collections of clippings.

Anyway--I thought it was important to point that out. Blogs like hers are the ones that should be being nominated for the bloggies awards. Someday I hope to have the freedom to post like she does on her site.

Critter

People have commented on their theories as to why there are never any crumbs or food that gets dropped on the floor in here. I mean its dark, people are always eating, and you never, ever, see anyone come by and sweep. You’d imagine that there’d be crap everywhere.

I normally get my food from the chow hall and bring it over to my desk so that I can watch TV, surf the net, whatever rather than sit either by myself or with people I hardly know in the dining facilities. A strange taste that I have is that I put ketchup on virtually anything I eat—in this case, the omelet that I get every morning (they were so good 3 months ago….not so much now). Well, I wandered back from the hall and opened my food box to discover, lo and behold, that I had forgotten my precious ketchup. Not to worry! I’ve done this before so I keep a stash of them in my desk drawer where I used to sit. So I saunter over, throw open the drawer, and start digging for my ketchup packets.

About 5 seconds later I see what I thought was a gag mouse that someone stuffed in there. Before I know it, said gag mouse sprints up my sleeve to get out of the way. He makes it all the way up to the patch on my shoulder before he realizes (and I agreed with him) that this wasn’t the approved method of escape. So he pulls a 180 and sprints back down my arm. Of course, by this point my cat-like reflexes have kicked in and I start flailing, and the mouse parajumps back into the drawer and hauls out of sight. If anyone ever wanted to hear a grown man--air force Major, jet pilot with over 3000 hours in flight--scream like a little girl, this was their opportunity. I also didn’t know I could move that fast, because I was 15 feet away before I knew what had actually happened.

Needless to say, I had cocktail sauce on my omelet this morning.