A Tale of Two Cities

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times…

Imagine somewhere in the city this morning a man got up early and checked his slumbering children, he walked into his kitchen and brewed a cup of tea. His wife walks up behind him and embraces him, he turns and kisses her as he heads for the door one of the children comes into the kitchen trying to wipe the sleep from weary eyes. A father picks the child up and blows softly into the childs eyes, blinking rapidly the child smiles at “daddy”, the Father kisses the child and the Mother takes the child from his arms as the he walks out of the house for the days work. Inside the  children are slowly making their way to the kitchen for breakfast, and on the counter the mornings cartoons are on, and the children watch intently as the screen dances with coulour and comes alive with sound. Once again, the daily routine has begun, and the children are ushered out the door for a day of school.

At work a Father clocks in, and is harassed by his boss, teased by his coworkers for not going out the night before, and for being a slave to his family, he laughs and takes their ribbing in good humor. He smiles to himself, and thinks with warmth in his heart that he has the love of his family to return to.  It is love that helps him endure a job that he hates, in a city he no longer understands.  He is working and saving for his family, and for something more than he has now.

At home a mother tends to an infant, that today is more restless than before, she prays that the baby isn’t sick. She has no insurance , and to take from their savings now with the holidays and school could be devastating. She pushes the thought from her head, and kisses her baby as she puts the child down for a nap. Returning to the living room she finds refuge in the afghan on the couch, and buries her head in a pillow as the tears flow, she yields again to her fears. Fear for her husband, fear for her family, fear for an uncertain future. Feeling silly, and embarrassed she dries her eyes again and turns on the television. The news is always the same, politics, higher prices, war, suffering and reality television. She finds some small measure of solace in a daytime drama, the characters so far removed from her struggles, so alive. After a short time the baby begins to cry and she is certain that their savings will soon be spent on caring for the child. Looking back to the television she realizes that it isn’t reality at all, reality surrounds her and the walls of her reality grow smaller and smaller each day.

At school the oldest boy at recess has to contend with the playground bully all the while looking out for his little sister, more than once he has taken a beating protecting his little sister. She is always so quiet, so timid, but her eyes burn with an intelligence that he cannot fathom. On more than one occasion she has helped him with his homework, and on than more than one occasion she has helped tie his soccer cleats, and stood tall and proud along side her parents as her older brother tried his best to help his team win. They were not only siblings, they were best friends, well beyond their years they had been aged by the city, its harshness, and the cold reality of it. Early in school they’d learned of the struggle of their parents to put them through private school, early in life they’d had to learn to give back to the family. They were 11 and 9 respectively; in all reality they were closer to 20 and 18. It was their eyes, always their eyes that gave away their years.

At work a Father asks for overtime, but the boss has his favorites, and promises maybe next week there will be overtime. It is always next week, always an empty promise. A Father realizes that something has to change, sadly he realizes that the only change that will come is that he will get older another year has seen more promises broken.

Finally the evening comes, and the family prepares for dinner, children wash and mother prepares a great meal in their cramped kitchen, Brother and Sister set the table and fill glasses with water, and milk. As they hear the key in the lock, they all rush to see their Father. He hugs them tightly and reminds himself that every struggle he endures is for them, his wife walks to him and he embraces her, they steal a kiss, and all at once he senses her sorrow, and sadly he smiles at her as understanding takes hold of him. Brother and Sister too understand; baby is sick again and things are going to get tight again. A Father looks at his family and Brother smiles at him, Sister picks up Baby smothers a teary face with kisses. Mother beams with pride, she doesn’t know how but somehow they will get by.

As Father reads to Brother and Sister, they drift off to sleep, and dreams begin to fill their heads. Mother and Father kiss them and close the door, not all the way. Leaving it open just a crack so the light from down the hall can get in. As Mother finishes nursing Baby, Father watches as Baby is laid to sleep in the crib. As the day is finally over they embrace and she tells him that Baby is ill, and they will have to spend their savings on going to the doctor. As her tears fall, he holds her, and tries to reassure her. Yet his words ring hollow in his own ears, some how they have to make. They will make it…

Now imagine that this was an American family in an American city, I see families in Baghdad trying to survive this war. Everyday in Baghdad children well beyond their years walk a line between being children and combat veterans caught in the middle of a war, that threatens to rip their city down the middle and destroy the very dream of hope that they now dare to hold dear.

My time here grows shorter by the day, and I thank God for it, I cannot wait to never be here again, but I think a part of me will always remain here just as a part of this place will always remain with me.

I have remained silent for some time, partly because I have nothing positive to offer, partly because our freedom to write what we desire to write has been curtailed (necessity), and mostly because my own bitterness at much of what I have been witness to has left me questioning more than I care to admit.

There comes a point in every war when Soldiers say; “Why are we here?”. A few days ago, a Soldier asked me that question, and for the first time since I have been an officer word, and reason to our cause eluded me. All I could muster was “Because our nation asked…” I hope that helped him because the taste that answer left in my mouth has left me parched for reason in a desert that offers noting to quench my thirst. I am a Soldier, and I am discharging my duty. In 93 days said duty will have been discharged, and 17 years of nearly continuous service will be at a crossroads. There is an empty hanger in my closet that begs the question, is now the time to hang this faded uniform for the last time?

I miss Dan, and MAJ K, but more than that I miss the fallen, those I knew and those that I was too “busy” to get to know. Yet most of all I miss the naïve idealism I once possessed, as I recall it left me feeling much better inside than what has since taken it place. 93 days…

It was the best of times…

Comments

[Zoli]

I’m a Canadian living a life you have described in your BLOG.
I reap the benefits of comfortable life, that you soldiers put your life in danger for.

Although I do not agree with the current policy makers toward the war in Iraq, I just wanted to say thank U my American friend for giving your best at these dire circumstances. So us the home-FOBBITS can enjoy peace at home..

I do not forget for a minute what you sacrifice out there…and wish you a safe return to your home.

"War, what is it good for? Absolutely nothin'!"

See my BLOG entry under “War! What is it good for? ” at my personal blog.
http://www.ismarts.com/blog/

[LotharBot]

Why are you there?

For that mom and dad, who now have a chance to dye their fingers purple when they vote for a government that actually represents them... for the little girl who no longer has to fear being raped by Saddam's sons or ending up in a mass grave... for the boy who can now get an education and grow up to care for a family of his own without a dictator's wrath hanging over his head... for the little baby who will grow up knowing of Saddam only through story, and not experience... for the next generation, who will not have to endure the things this generation endured because of your work. The German and Japanese people growing up today don't have to endure the things they had to endure in 1945-1950, because of the work of our parents and grandparents. Iraq, a generation from now, will be similarly transformed.

Poverty is always tough, and poverty in a war zone is worse. But making the world a better place by transforming the culture of the Middle East (one small step at a time) makes it worth it.

I'm glad for your service.

[devildog6771]

Just checking in to see how you're doing today?

[Patrick Lasswell]

60 Minutes' Andy Rooney is lying about you: http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2005/09/30/60minutes/main892398.shtml and me and all the other people serving.

"We're spending $200 million a year on bullets alone. That's a lot of target practice. We have 1,155,000 enlisted men and women and 225,000 officers."

We are in the middle of a shooting war and this useless idiot doesn't take the time to do the math that $145 a year is not a lot of money with which to train soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines to use their small arms. Especially when that same money is paying for combat operations rounds expended.

My Navy Reserve unit deploys to the beach and is expected to be able use our weapons to defend ourselves. We have to go begging for ammunition to qualify each year. We have zero rounds available for target practice.

A lot of winning a war is the willingness to show up, be miserable, and stick around until the other guy gives up. By winning this war, you are doing a lot to shut up people with airtime who have outlived their integrity.

Thank you for being miserable for your country. Thank you for sticking around until the other guy gives up. Thank you for shutting up Andy Rooney by being better soldiers than they deserve or are willing to pay for.

Thank you, sir.

[devildog6771]

I lost someone I dearly loved in this war. He wasn't killed by bombs or bullets but he died serving his country just the same. Onre of his buddies made an illegal turn into the path of a vehicle goinh in excess of 100 mph. He then lied about it and said terrrorists hit them from behind on purpose.

For over a year we lived with that and tried to handle it onmly to find out at the trial he lied by his own admission. Except for the people who let us know of his death and helped bury him, his unit was not allowed to offer comfort or support. Since the trial was over they still never even sent a card or letter.

I could be botter and ask why were are there and why he had to dies. He had to be bound together with his bullet proof vest just so we could open his casket.

He left behind 4 little girls aged 7 months to 7 years old. He was a decorated local police Officer. He was 32 years old when he died. After 9/11 he joined the Navy in case his country needed him. He went gladly but that didn't mean he Wanted to leave his kids without a dad.

Why did he go? Because of those kids. And because of those Iraqi kids and the kids in Afgfhanistan. He went for that purple ink on the finger of people he never met so they could put that ink on their finger when before just thinking abut it could get them killed.

He went for Somalia, the USS Cole, and our bombed emnbassies. He went because of 9/11. He went because those terrorists want to destroy us, one because if we are defeated, then they feel Europe will be a piece of cake! Two, because those terrorists hate everything we stand for. They WILL destroy us if they can. They have no intention of giving up.

He went and you all went so that when you re-read what you just wrote, you will not be talking about America and every country in the world if they succeed.

[Kyle]

I like to think I know what I would do in your situation, but there is no way to know without being there. The situation of the family you describe is very moving and as one with two young boys I can relate. Is that family (hypothetical or not) not what you are there for? The average Iraqi family now has a chance to thrive, its obviously going to be very tough, but they now have an opportunity that never existed before. You and your soldiers provided that opportunity.

[AFSister]

Hey Currie....
I hate to hear you sounding so melancholy again. This has obviously been an incredibly tough tour for you- I wish it wasn't so.

The next time you, or one of your Soldiers questions why you are there- remember the kids you gave shoes to. Remember election day, and how people in America didn't vote because it was a rainy day, but people in Afghanistan and Iraq risk death in order to proudly display that purple finger. Remember the fear expressed by Iraqi's when they think about Saddam's regime. Remember how it feels to walk down the streets at home without armor, guns, or bombs- because that's what we're hoping the Iraqi's will be able to do some day. Remember the brotherhood forged by war. Remember 9/11...because we never want another day like that in American history.

That's why you're there, Rusten. Not just because your country wants you there. It's because you're needed.

Three months to go, Rusten.... only 3 months, and you'll be home. Remember that too.

[Alison]

Hang in there, guy. I hear you. I've been in the same position, both the one who went, and have been left behind.
Reenlistment can be a bitch.