Swim

It has been just under 16 years since the day I stood in a small room in Des Moines, and took the oath of enlistment for the Army National Guard. I was 19 years old.

It was a different world. The National Guard was in a constant state of budget crisis. There was always more that needed to be done than there was money to do it. A sign in an office at the armory said "We have done so much, with so little, for so long, we are now convinced that we can do absolutely everything, with absolutely nothing". There was no war. Sure, some units were going to Kosovo, and about every six months the Commander would trot out some new global emergency that he was sure we would be called up for, urging us to get into shape, pay attention in training, and keep track of our gear. The Desert Storm veterans used to tease us, telling us we would never get a combat patch. We could stay in for 20 years and never leave the US. Hell, if the budget got cut again, we would never leave Iowa!

Things changed.

Today, I got to spend some time with my oldest, Ian. He's 18 now. Living on his own, busy with his own life, so getting a few hours of his time is precious to me. We got on the subject of childhood memories, and how it can be difficult to remember the order of events. This happened, and That happened...but when did This happen in relation to That? It gets muddled.
"What was going on when I was 9?" He asked, "I can't remember, exactly."
"Well," I said, "That was when I was in Texas, going to Medic training."
"Oh, now I remember!" he said. "I was all worried, because you were helping take care of the people who had to leave Katrina, and I knew you couldn't swim. I was having lots of nightmares, and I kept trying to figure out if I could ride my bike to Texas, because I was a good swimmer, and you aren't."

There is always, especially at this time of year, so recently after Veteran's Day, a lot of talk about the sacrifices members of the military make. Some people even remember to honor their families, who often sacrifice even more. I often say that staying in has been the ultimate act of selfishness on my part, because I put my family through hell so that I can do something I love. I've never felt the truth of that more strongly than I did today.

My nine year old son wanted to ride his bike from Minnesota to Texas to protect me from flooding that he was afraid was near me. Between that 16 weeks of training, and the 16 months of deployment, a little boy spent years having nightmares about my safety. That fact clamped down on me like a vice.

"Listen," I said. "I want you to know that I know my being in has been hard for you. It's hurt you. You must have felt so alone and so sad. I never wanted that. Ever. And I'm sorry."

He looked stunned. And a little teary-eyed. Maybe he thought I hadn't noticed.

"You have nothing to apologize for." His voice is so deep. When did he stop sounding like a little boy? "Everything you did, you did for us. I knew that. I know that. I'm proud to be your son."

Thank you, Ian. I don't think you know how often you really did keep my head above the water.