I try not to sound melodramatic, that isn't nor ever has been my nature, Sometimes though, my words may come out as such. They are just my true expressions of what is bouncing around in my head, this is my avenue for letting them come out and play for a bit. I do hope you take them as such. Some days I will write more than others, frankly because some days I have more energy and a clearer mindset than others. Now on with the show..
Right now, I am in the greatest battle of my life. I fight everyday with all my energy to make it through as normal and easy as possible. It is tiring, it is draining and its flat out no fun. But battles are something I have grown accustomed to, I have been through some figurative and literal battles. With Veteran's Day come and gone, I was given cause to reflect back to a simpler, younger time in my life as we are want to do often, I want to recall one of the more memorable, positive ones.
It all started with a cake. I don't even remember the reason for it. On a warm August morning in Las Vegas, like any other late summer day in the desert, I followed my normal routine. Wake up late, rush around, stop for coffee and a Big Gulp and hit my desk with a minute to spare. I had my own office so no one would really know if I was late or not but the days I did happen to be late were the days that someone was looking for me. Ain't that always the case?
As I stopped for my coffee, a headline in the Las Vegas Review Journal caught my eye "Iraqi forces advance towards Kuwaiti border". Well that sucks, I think with a degree of sarcastic sensitivity, but I'm here safe in the USA so go me. I get to my desk and begin my daily routine of doing paperwork for the first hour and a half before doing anything resembling productivity. You see I didn't schedule appointments or do much more than brainless, necessary busy work until about 9 or so. Most people in the office would not even approach me until they were sure I'd had at least one cup of coffee. Around 10, the rumblings began. People milling around with minor urgency, some hush-hush phone calls for the higher-ups and then around noon the information trickled down to us; they were deploying (or sending) a group of people from our base to some undisclosed place for some undisclosed reason. I was still wondering how this impacted me when our boss stated that were sending 3 people from our office to go. You now have my attention.
Now comes the cake. In selecting who was to go, our boss had to balance knowledge and experience of personnel for both the mission and the office. Being the most experienced of the lower tier I was right in the middle, but figured they would keep me back (wishful hoping is more like it) but he said it was down to 2 of us; myself and my co-worker Joe. I suggested a coin flip which did not meet with as much humor as I expected. When the boss said he was considering me because of said experience, Joe began to protest saying something like "Cmon man, why can't I go" as he walked backwards and sat right in the middle of a cake we had a birthday in the office. "THAT is why you are not going, congratulations Jerry" Great, thanks for that Joe. And for the record, yes he's on here and will read this and agree with and corroborate most of what I am saying. If not,Joe and Moe, that's how I remember it.
I could go on about the Desert Shield/Storm experience for pages and pages but that is not wholly the purpose of this rant. Needless to say that 18 hours later, I was sitting on a plane bound for Myrtle Beach, SC then to parts unknown (they never even told us as we took off from Barcelona headed there and I'm not wholly sure I ever really knew where we were). My attendance at The World's Largest Beach Party, as I affectionately called it, lasted from early September 1990 until about mid-March of 1991 (wow it has been 20 years). During that time I learned to play Spades, played a lot of Boggle and Rummy, did a lot of training and about once a night or so, awoke to Saddam's scud alarm clock.
I sometimes don't feel like I really "fought" for my country as much as I was just holding down a place for America's security. When I came back, the first thing my grandfather, may he RIP, did was to sign me up and take me to VFW. Being a veteran himself, he beamed with pride as he introduced me around to the other veteran's. A part of me didn't feel like I really belonged there, I mean these were guys that were in armed combat, stormed hills and beachheads and protect forts and outposts. I played games, trained a lot, killed flies on guard duty and wrote a lot of letters. However one of the WW II veterans put it in perspective for me. He said "You signed up to defend your country, you went halfway around the world to defend your country and put in the same position as us, you have done the same things we did" He did have a point.
I wear my veteran's status with pride. I still have my uniform and yes it still fits, I'll get some pictures sometime to prove it. I wear it from time to time in remembrance of my service, of those good, simpler times and and to prove that no matter whether the battle I'm fighting is against a foreign enemy, a 10 of spades or a chronic illness, I am a fighter and I am a soldier and I always will be.
Thank you for taking the time once again.
Right now, I am in the greatest battle of my life. I fight everyday with all my energy to make it through as normal and easy as possible. It is tiring, it is draining and its flat out no fun. But battles are something I have grown accustomed to, I have been through some figurative and literal battles. With Veteran's Day come and gone, I was given cause to reflect back to a simpler, younger time in my life as we are want to do often, I want to recall one of the more memorable, positive ones.
It all started with a cake. I don't even remember the reason for it. On a warm August morning in Las Vegas, like any other late summer day in the desert, I followed my normal routine. Wake up late, rush around, stop for coffee and a Big Gulp and hit my desk with a minute to spare. I had my own office so no one would really know if I was late or not but the days I did happen to be late were the days that someone was looking for me. Ain't that always the case?
As I stopped for my coffee, a headline in the Las Vegas Review Journal caught my eye "Iraqi forces advance towards Kuwaiti border". Well that sucks, I think with a degree of sarcastic sensitivity, but I'm here safe in the USA so go me. I get to my desk and begin my daily routine of doing paperwork for the first hour and a half before doing anything resembling productivity. You see I didn't schedule appointments or do much more than brainless, necessary busy work until about 9 or so. Most people in the office would not even approach me until they were sure I'd had at least one cup of coffee. Around 10, the rumblings began. People milling around with minor urgency, some hush-hush phone calls for the higher-ups and then around noon the information trickled down to us; they were deploying (or sending) a group of people from our base to some undisclosed place for some undisclosed reason. I was still wondering how this impacted me when our boss stated that were sending 3 people from our office to go. You now have my attention.
Now comes the cake. In selecting who was to go, our boss had to balance knowledge and experience of personnel for both the mission and the office. Being the most experienced of the lower tier I was right in the middle, but figured they would keep me back (wishful hoping is more like it) but he said it was down to 2 of us; myself and my co-worker Joe. I suggested a coin flip which did not meet with as much humor as I expected. When the boss said he was considering me because of said experience, Joe began to protest saying something like "Cmon man, why can't I go" as he walked backwards and sat right in the middle of a cake we had a birthday in the office. "THAT is why you are not going, congratulations Jerry" Great, thanks for that Joe. And for the record, yes he's on here and will read this and agree with and corroborate most of what I am saying. If not,Joe and Moe, that's how I remember it.
I could go on about the Desert Shield/Storm experience for pages and pages but that is not wholly the purpose of this rant. Needless to say that 18 hours later, I was sitting on a plane bound for Myrtle Beach, SC then to parts unknown (they never even told us as we took off from Barcelona headed there and I'm not wholly sure I ever really knew where we were). My attendance at The World's Largest Beach Party, as I affectionately called it, lasted from early September 1990 until about mid-March of 1991 (wow it has been 20 years). During that time I learned to play Spades, played a lot of Boggle and Rummy, did a lot of training and about once a night or so, awoke to Saddam's scud alarm clock.
I sometimes don't feel like I really "fought" for my country as much as I was just holding down a place for America's security. When I came back, the first thing my grandfather, may he RIP, did was to sign me up and take me to VFW. Being a veteran himself, he beamed with pride as he introduced me around to the other veteran's. A part of me didn't feel like I really belonged there, I mean these were guys that were in armed combat, stormed hills and beachheads and protect forts and outposts. I played games, trained a lot, killed flies on guard duty and wrote a lot of letters. However one of the WW II veterans put it in perspective for me. He said "You signed up to defend your country, you went halfway around the world to defend your country and put in the same position as us, you have done the same things we did" He did have a point.
I wear my veteran's status with pride. I still have my uniform and yes it still fits, I'll get some pictures sometime to prove it. I wear it from time to time in remembrance of my service, of those good, simpler times and and to prove that no matter whether the battle I'm fighting is against a foreign enemy, a 10 of spades or a chronic illness, I am a fighter and I am a soldier and I always will be.
Thank you for taking the time once again.
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