Somethings Missing

I think all of us at some point in our lives, if not multiple times, have thought "Man I think somethings missing, I just don't know what it is." Aside from the obvious jokes revolving around John Mayer, this emotion is both common and frustrating.  The never ending thought process in the shape of a figure eight can be mind numbing.  The cliche question always arises, "What is the meaning of life" and the answer may lie in finding what is missing.  I have found in the past year an emptiness that I had not experienced in my life up until this point.  A line from the movie Blow I think adequately describes this emotion, "It's always the last day of summer and i've been left out in the cold with no door to get back in." I am not shy about the fact that depression has certainly been an ugly underlying battle that I have struggled with over the past year.  Initially the frustration centered around things of physical limitations due to my foot.  Being a grown man and having my father lift me in and out of the shower daily gets old after a while.  My mother drove me everywhere for five months because I could not drive.  I essentially became 14 years old again, and the transition from being a combat leader to a Man who could not get out of bed on his own was crushing, or so I thought.

Around late January I was finally able to somewhat live my life on my own.  This is when the mental aspects of my injury began to surface.  An interesting thing to note, if you ever know someone that has suffered a major physical injury there healing continues long after the body has mended itself.  Doctors often say that the body initially focuses on the physical ailment and the mental scars get ignored until the body heals itself.  I want to be clear before I share the remainder of this blog, what I am about to talk about is not meant to insult, hurt or offend anyone.  It is merely about awareness and how actions or lack of actions can cause pain.

Lesson 1- Later rather than sooner

The outpouring of support immediately following my injury was enormous and humbling. I received over  150 facebook messages in the first 24 hours after being injured.  I was brought to tears realizing how many people were worried and praying for me.  Eventually as one month led to two, the outreach stopped.  Now I will say, there is a select group of 10 or so people who never left my side and still constantly message me and email me, these people are my real friends.  I certainly do not hold it against the individuals that "checked the box" after my injury, but I will say this.  Sometimes the most powerful message you can send to someone in need is sent later rather than sooner.

Lesson 2- My empty wall

I moved into my apartment in May of 2011.  I began decorating the living room with my sports memorabilia and family pictures.  When you leave a Battalion in the Army they send you what is called "Colors".  It is essentially a plaque with the Battalion Flag and an inscription describing your service. I looked at a spot on the wall and said, "Wow that would be a great place for my Battalion Colors."  I had not yet received my plaque, even though I had been promised it in February, but I was assured it was coming soon.  Life went on and everyday like a little kid I came home from work and swung the door open to my apartment complex hoping my Battalion Colors would be there.  And everyday I was met with an empty floor and disappointment.  This disappointment was only amplified when I opened the door to my actual apartment and the empty wall stared me right in the face.  It angered me, "What the fuck?  How hard is it to mail something to a soldier that was wounded in your unit?  You promised me this 5 months ago, guess you guys dont give a shit."  The anger would progress to sadness, "What does this say about me?  They must have thought I was a piece of shit.  Surely if I was a great leader my unit would have sent this to me right away.  I must suck."  Unfortunately in my brain sadness always beats anger, and I was left feeling empty and alone in my one bedroom apartment staring at my empty wall.  Here is my lesson I would like to impart with this story, this is not just about the Army, if you promise something to someone...deliver it.  And if you cant deliver on that promise, have the dignity to both apologize and come up with a way to rectify the issue at hand.   The depression and pain that that empty wall caused me was way larger than the effort it would have taken to spend 5 minutes at the post office to mail the damn thing.

Story 3-  Leaders need to be cared about too

The Army has a motto of "Take care of Soldiers".  Last time I checked leaders are soldiers too.  Unfortunately in my experiences, the Army is very good of taking care of Soldiers up to the rank of E-5. Once you are an E-5 or above you do not need to be cared for, you are able to care for yourself.  This is both irrational and sickening.  I was injured on September 26, 2010.  I was the first officer in my Battalion injured, and would be until my friend Larkin was injured on or about New Years Day.  The first personal message I received from my Battalion Commander was on July 27, 2011.  Almost a full year after the incident and he finally had the time to email me.   I want to describe briefly what this feels like.  When you are in combat you become closer to your Soldiers then anyone or anything ever in your life.  The bond you share is like super glue.  Imagine you spend every minute of everyday with your closest friend, your closest family member, and in an instant you are removed and cant not see them for 10 months.  This is the feeling of being injured and taken out of country.  This is an extremely tough transition.  As Leaders we have an obligation to take care of our injured Soldiers.  About two months after my injury my internal thought process began again with anger, "I have not heard from my Battalion Commander or my Company Commander in a month, what the fuck?  We preach before every deployment that if you have a Soldier injured you would still check up on them to make sure they were ok, why do we not practice what we preach?"  Again sadness interrupted my thought process, "They must think I was an awful leader, surely if I was good at what I did and well liked, they would be contacting me and making sure I was ok.  Man I bet they are happy that I am gone now 'shit, now we don't have to deal with that guy'.  My life has lost purpose and value to the people I value the most."  This my friends is the ugly nature of depression.  Do I think my BC and CO royally dropped the ball?  Yes.  Do I believe they thought lowly of me?  Logically I would think no, but depression defies logic.  I want to be clear I love my CO and I would do anything for him.  He was the best leader I had witnessed in the Army.  Did he mess up?  I believe so.  Do I hold it against him? Maybe a little.  Have I in my heart forgiven him?  Absolutely.  My BC is a whole different story that I will not go into.  This lesson can be valuable at any institution, taking care of your employees or Soldiers does not cease at the lowest levels, everyone needs to be cared for in an organization.  The difference that an email or phone call would have made in my life can not be adequately described.

I face an interesting dilemma in my life at this point. I am in a unique position to either stay in the Army or walk away from the profession I worked over 4 years to enter.  What I will do is not chosen yet, however this last year has certainly not added a pretty bow on the Army experience.  So as I sit here tonight, rambling on, I am left again completely unsure of what is missing in my life.  Its for sure missing, maybe, hopefully, it will be found soon for the search has become exhausting and long.

I thank you for reading and taking time out of your busy schedules.

Walk or Drive?

Recently my friend Mike from Concord, asked if I would do a small write up about leadership in the military for his quarterly news letter at Sharp Tool Company.  I thought after writing it that I would share it with everyone.  Enjoy.

As I walked through the gates of Arlington National Cemetery I was struck with the absolute immensity of the hollowed grounds that lay before me.  As far as my eyes could stretch lay the final resting place of so many American Heroes, Presidents, Soldiers, and my best friend.   I walked into the main office where a polite lady asked me, “Specific grave site?”  I replied, “Yes, 1LT Todd Weaver, KIA 09 September 2010.”  She shuffled through papers and eventually found the grave site.  She then asked, “Are you going to walk or drive to the site?”  The statement befuddled me.  Walk or drive?  I hadn’t even considered that the site was so far away that I may have to drive.  And with my disabled right foot, perhaps driving was the best option.  I paused for a second and replied, “Walking.”

I have been an officer in the United States Army for almost four years now.  I was deployed and injured in Southern Afghanistan almost a year ago now.  Leadership and organizational change are huge tenants of being an Army Officer.  In the Army, as with most organizations, we have core values in which all Soldiers subscribe to.  Specifically we have seven core values: Loyalty, Duty, Respect, Selfless Service, Honor, Integrity and Personal courage.  All the core values put together both literally and figuratively spell out LDRSHIP.  As with any organization the extent to which our employees embody these values leads to either a smooth and efficient work place, or an inevitable failure. 

As I walked out of the front office my mind was racing.  “How could anyone drive on such honored ground?  How could I look at myself in the mirror if I drove past all these honorable heroes just to get to my friends final resting place?”  My right foot had been severely mangled by an Improvise Explosive Device in September and this walk would be the furthest I had walked since being injured.  Down Patton Street, left on Eisenhower, the street names of countless American Heroes droned on and I thought of my organizations core values, L D R S H I P.  I was proud that I was walking, as it was inevitably the right choice, even though driving would have been easier.

Organizations will continue to live, breath and move.  Employees will enter and exit over the years.  Core values will certainly change based on goals, motivation, and the company’s mission. But, in the heart of every employee there will be a time, perhaps multiple, where you are posed with the metaphorical question “Walk or Drive?”  Which way are you committed to acting?

Job Offering

Recently I have been paying attention to the news a little bit more.  I have seen the riots on the streets in most of our major cities and the "Walks on Wall Street".  I know a major issue brought up is unemployment and growing loan rates that seem to smother our average working citizen or recent college graduate.  Well have no fear, I am here to give you a job description and hook you up.

Requirements:  You must be above the age of 18, 17 if you are given a waiver from a parental guardian.  If you have a college degree you qualify for a higher starting salary and higher position of authority.  You could possibly start with as many as 30 individuals underneath you.  You must meet specific weight requirements that essentially define that you are not obese. You must be under the age of 40, but again a waiver can be drawn up if it is deemed that you are healthy.  There is no disqualification for prior felony charges, gang relation, or any other major mishap in your life prior.

Benefits:  Your starting salary will not be too large.  This is no 60,000 dollar organization off of the bat.  However, almost all individuals will qualify for retrograde college assistance (aka we will give you a lump sum to pay back a portion, if not all of your college loan debts).  You and anyone in your immediate family will be covered 100% medically, be that dental and regular.  You will receive a housing allowance based on your rank, or housing will be provided for you.  You will no longer have to live at home with your family.  In fact for those that complain that they still have to live at home with your family, we actually can almost guarantee up to a year away from your family at certain points.  You may be able to live abroad as well.  We have sites in Italy, Denmark, Germany, and Japan just to name a few.  If you decide to stay with our organization for a long period of time we will pay for your graduate degree and pay you full time duty pay while you are at graduate school.

Warnings:  There is a slight chance that you may be hurt or experience hardships while working with our organization.  There may be some long nights and early days.  Your mind and body may be exposed to abuse that we intend just to toughen you up for better service within our organization.

I am sure you are aware that I am talking about military service.  I find it funny that the jobs people tend to say they "respect" are inherently the ones they do not want to do.  This past year while I was injured I got to spend four months living with my parents, and it was some of the best times of my life.  I have understanding, but minimal sympathy for the complaints on college loans and debt.  I have minimal sympathy for those that have been crushed by the job market.  Ahh, no one was complaining about our free enterprise when it was booming and the job market was great.  Well, the ideals of free enterprise have not changed, we are just merely upset that some of us have been left out in the cold as of late.  Well come on into military service, the fire is nice, the benefits are great, but enter at your own risk.

This in no way shape or form intended to insult anyone, just a mere observation.

The Best Reads

Since I have started writing this blog I have gotten a lot of positive feedback from individuals that have appreciated my honesty and candor.  I can not describe how much it means to me that my words could somehow have an effect, even if it is on one person.  I feel as though I have created a following on this blog and would like to utilize this entry to share the stories that I read, that humble me, that help me understand better.  Below I will share a short story about the author and I, then suggest there book.


Nate and I stood half way up church hill on our way to the Army Football game.  We had spent all morning crowded around a computer trying to figure out how to make the Leader Challenge program more appealing.  We got almost all the way to the top and Nate stopped.  We had been speaking about previous experiences he had in the Army and how he was doing.  Now we stood in silence.  Still silence, maybe five minutes of silence.  Nate was hurting and even as a sophomore cadet I could see the pain in this prior Ranger Platoon Leaders eyes.  Nate had seen some things and they were still effecting him that day.  A year or so later Nate Self decided to put down on paper the story that had haunted him so bad.  Not only did he share the entire story, start to finish, he included the after and how PTSD effected his life and marriage.  The book is titled "Two Wars" and if you want to gain a better understanding of a traumatic situation that a Soldier encountered and how it mentally plagued him afterwards you must read this book.  


"Kyle?"
"Yes, sir"
"Am I facing the wall or facing you?"
"Your facing me sir."
"Good good, have a seat lets talk."
I sat in the cramped commanders office at the West Point WTU.  Across the big wooden desk was a family friend that was critical in getting me back to West Point.  A fellow infantry officer, combat wounded, a father, and a husband.  He smiled in a corky way and his eyes constantly blinked.  His gaze was about two feet over my head and maybe 3 feet to the right of me as he spoke.  We spoke for about an hour about staying positive, about how people said he would never run but he is running a marathon now, about faith, and just about general life issues.  I remember thinking, "Wow I have never met such a positively thinking person in my life."  What I failed to mention was, my family friend is Captain Scott Smiley.  To some this may mean nothing to others a lot.  "Scotty", as we all referred to him, was severely injured in Iraq when a suicide van packed with explosives went off in front of him.  He lost site in both of his eyes.  Scotty is 100% blind.  His book entitled "Hope Unseen" is a phenomenal read about his struggles from being a perfectly healthy individual to accepting the fact that he will never get to see his wife and kids again, let alone anything in this world.  Its is a great spiritual read that will leave you feeling, "Hmm my life is not to bad."  Truly inspiring.


As I sat in the crowd at Ike Hall my firstie year I was beaming with excitement. Two of my all time favorite college basketball coaches were going to give a lecture to the Corps of Cadets.  None other than Coach Bobby Knight and Coach K.  I was anxious to see the difference between the two men and their leadership styles.  I only remember a simple few things from that brief, one being Coach Knight exclaiming, "Piss on ethics!" as he cut off Coach K's attempt to real him in.  But, Coach Knight did suggest a book.  A book that he said every American should read.  This book was "The Lone Survivor" by Marcus Latrell.  I put that in a notebook and didn't think anything of it.  I finally read that book several months ago and it rocked my world.  Far to often we get caught up in the best fictional books out there, whether its Harry Potter or Twighlight, we read these making up our own non fictional feelings to these stories.  Well this story is a non-fiction true story about a 4 man seal team that was over run and ambushed.  The title gives away the ending of the story, but it is an incredible read and really portrays the spirit of the military. 


These three books have been incredibly enlightening for me to read.  I understand they are all military books but for the reader who is truly interested in understanding the military in a deeper sense, these are must reads.  I encourage you to pick up atleast one and give it 20 pages of your attention, thats all it will take.  Thank you all for reading.

Soldiers Reunite: A few great men and their stories.

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around. 

This past weekend was Columbus Day Weekend.  A strategically placed weekend that allows college students to Soldiers on the front line claim "4 day" (military term for 4 days off in a row).  Usually 4 days are used to travel to extravagant areas, or to do something intense like free falling and rock climbing.  This weekend I stayed right in town at good old High Falls, New York.  A group of my short lives heros were coming in town for the weekend and we were all going to spend time together.  I had not seen them since the day I was removed from the battlefield.  What I would like to do is use there personal stories and lay out an incident that occurred to them in Afghanistan.

CPT Bryson Shipman-  2008 graduate, was in BOLC, IBOLC and Ranger with me.  Then through the Army we got assigned to the same battalion at Fort Campbell 2-502.  After convincing the boss a little bit I was told that I was going down to Delta Company, Shipman and I were going to be platoon leaders together.  Shipman, Ivey, Weaver and Snook.  We were the uh "dreamteam",  more like 3 studs trying to get the new platoon leader "me"  figure out how to properly do my job.  I would never have been a quality platoon leader if it were not for these individuals guidance and teaching.  Bryson was moved to XO prior to our deployment for manageable faults within the upper level of our Company.   He was told he would not lead a platoon in combat and the news angered and saddened him.  But Bryson being a professional took his job very seriously and was extremely successful as an XO.  He went out on several patrols but one patrol was unique.  As he walked along a path he thought he had felt something compress beneath his feet, under further inspection is was a very large IED.   They cleared out of the area and the IED was blown up.  Later found to be nearly 100lbs of HME that Bryson had been stepping on just an hour earlier.  100lbs that would have sent him atleast 65 feet in the air and would have required the mission to change to 'find body parts'.  A strong Texas man I am sure Bryson sees past this but it still wares on his mind.

Cory Kastl-  West Point grad 2008, BOLC/IBOLC/Ranger School, then assigned to the good old 2-502.  Cory was a leader in the battalion.  One of the guys that just seemed to do everything right.  If I needed advice on war related topics I went to him.  If I wanted advice on lifting weights, as Cory was an all american championship boxer, I would go to him.  Cory certainly was considered an immense asset to our battalion because he possessed the will power and leadership that you dont see in many junior leaders.  

December 12, 2010- Members of Cory Kastl's platoon worked long hours to set up the new outpost out in the village near Sangsar, the birthplace of the Taliban.  Squads were out on patrol while others continued to fortify the new outpost.  The men had worked to exhaustion and it was time to put some of the Soldiers on rest cycles.  The Soldiers laid down in the building for the the last time they would sleep.  A massive vehicle born improvised explosive device, essentially a van packed with explosives, drove past the outpost and exploded directly next to the sleeping building.  I have never asked Cory nor am sure it would be appropriate to about what happened next.  The end result was 6 soldiers dead, some of them from being barred alive in the rubble.  Cory himself had been trapped and received lacerations to his face and skull.  I had been tracking the story through the news paper for days, prior to finding out it was Cory's Platoon and I broke down crying in my basement when I heard.  I felt bad for the dead, and I felt bad for the living.  The living would have to carry this for eternity and I cried for them and Cory.  

Larkin O'hern was a 2008 West Point grad, BOLC/IOBC/Ranger School.  Larkin came to 2-502 and was immediately granted a position at platoon leader in Bravo country.  Since I started to get to know Larkin mostly at Benning I can tell you he was a quiet but very poignant.  The man spoke with conviction and with confidence on all issues.  Standards were key to him, yet at the same time he knew how to hold a conversation and be a close friend.  He was the perfect balance of confidence and empathy.  I am sure by having a new wife by his side she aided in this attributes and encouraged Larkin. 

New Years Day 2011-  Trying to work through the normal New Years Day hangover, I laid there in bed and reached for the computer.  I decided to check Facebook for the normal stupidity that interests us all.  As I got on a message popped up from my good friend Jake Ivey.  We exchanged normal talk, then he said, "Man really sorry to hear about Larkin?"  I said excuse me, "He said Larkin lost both his legs and his right hand on December 30th." ........."Jake I have to go sorry."  My eyes welled up, I crutched upstairs to be around my family and my mom came over and rubbed my arm, she said "are you ok kyle?"  I dont think I got a word out for 5 minutes, I just sat there and cried as my mom held me.  A massive IED had just taken my friends legs  and right hand, also mortally wounding another Soldier in the process.  

As I hung out with the three of them, Larkin with his amazing wife Rachel and Cory with his uh not to far from soon to be wife Megan and Bryson, it was crazy to reflect on how much has happened in one year.  I was blown away by Larkin's drive to maneuver freely.  I am sure he could have sat in the wheelchair all weekend had he wanted to, but no he wanted to walk around.  With  the curious stares of onlookers you could see a look in his eyes that he certainly could care less what they were thinking and barely acknowledged their starers.  Cory who has always been a strong guy was so concerned with the health and needs of others that I wish I would have gotten an opportunity to talk more about how he is doing....I mean how he is really doing.  And Bryson, my best friend for the past 4 years, the mental side of war that only few speak about.  Running medevacs for dead and wounded soldiers or children, not feeling as though you were adequately used, and knowing that had that IED gone off that would have been the end of him.  I admire his mental strength.

José Narosky once said, "in war, there are no unwounded Soldiers."  The mental and physical scars left behind can not be compared nor related to one another.  What may mentally destroy one person, may be just another day at work.  I have struggled with the mental side of war most recently, and I consistently struggle with justifying my feelings when comparing them to others who are less fortunate than myself.  It is to not play down there injury, nor to embellish upon my own, but experiences as potent at these leave scars that only time and love can heal.  I love my friends very much and I am committed to giving them my time to ensure they heal.  Cause as a lot of people have said "Its just a bump in the road,"  and as my friend Larkin responded, "Yeah but its a pretty big fricken bump."

Thank you all for listening and please comment if you have any questions.

A Year Later

As I laid in the hospital bed in Germany, I thought to myself, "I wonder what my life is going to be like now."  I wonder what things will be the same, what things will be different, and the kind of person I am or will become.  As I laid there a nurse came in and started preparing the bed across from me for a new patient to come in.  Five minutes later the new patient was carried in on a stretcher and they put him on the bed.  It was an 18 year old soldier who had been involved in an IED blast.  He looked like two face from Batman. His entire right side of his face was burned and peppered with shrapnel.  The nurses set him up in the bed and then left the room.  It was just him and I now.  He started to cry.  I said, "Are you ok buddy?  Can I help you with something?"  With tears in his eyes he replied, "Im 18 years old man.  Look at my face.  Who is ever going to want to be with me now?  Im a freak.  Im only 18."

I have reflected a lot in the past couple of months on my experiences overseas and now being back at home.  I have written about my situation, my friends, my soldiers and random people I have come across.  I think it is common a year after a tragedy for people to reflect and comment on how better there life is now because they went through such a tragedy.  I would love to write a blog entry today about my perseverance and grit through this whole event.  I would love to write about how my life has actually gotten better since this incident occurred and how much I appreciate life now.  But, I pride myself on being authentic and an entry like that would not be authentic.  Yes there are certainly aspects of my life that have improved, but reflecting a year later, my life has on average gotten worse.

I walked up to Grant Hall to meet one of my classmates that now works in the admissions office.  I spotted him outside the door and standing next to him was the "Supe", head of USMA.  I walked up, saluted the three star general and said hello.  He began speaking to me about how he knew my family and my story and how proud he was of me.  He was half way into telling me about how the Academy was doing when another one of my classmates walked up.  This classmate had been severely injured in Afghanistan resulting in losing one of his legs.  The Supe stopped mid sentence and with no explanation walked away from me and over to this Soldier.  I stood there astonished, figuring he would come back and finish our conversation, he never did.  He talked to my classmate and motioned to an aid, "Hey get my camera out, I want to take a picture with this great Soldier."  I watched as the two took a picture together and then I slowly walked away.

This story may sound very trivial and in some ways it is.  Do I hold anyone responsible? No.  But it is a good vignette that signifies my struggle over the past year.  Since I was young I have always been fearful of not being respected.  I take everything in my life seriously and find it very difficult to brush off even the smallest of situations.  I have always been sensitive to the fact that people do not take my injury seriously.  To some this may sound crazy, "How could you not take it seriously?"  But in the world of wounded Soldiers my injury could be looked at on the minor side.  Whether it was the CW4 who told me, "Well it is just a foot injury."  Or my Battalion Commander never contacting me after my injury, I have constantly felt alone this past year.  I cant adequately describe the feeling of abandonment that this past year has caused me.  Its a sad realization when I sit down and think, "Maybe people would have cared more if I lost my leg."  Now this is no insult or anything to people that have.  I am sure they would be quick to tell me I am crazy and no I really don't wish that, but being authentic I would be lying if I said it didn't cross my mind.

There have been a lot of people who have been so supportive since I got back.  I don't want them to get lost in all this.  My friends that took time out of there R and R to call and check on me, or friends from school who would send me messages weekly just to make sure I was ok.  My family has been everything I could have ever wanted and more this past year.  But, if I am being honest, this past year has been terrible.  Yes with everything there were bright spots, but everyday is a struggle now.  I go back to that day every morning when I wake up and every night when I go to bed.  I go to that day with every step I take when my foot still doesn't move the same way.  I go to that day when its gorgeous outside and all I want to do is go for a long run and I cant.  Physically and emotionally nothing is the same.  My overall point is that far to often after a tragedy people feel an obligation to be positive about it when asked about it.  But the truth is its still a tragedy.  And maybe one day I will look back on this as a positive event in my life, but one year later it certainly has not been.

Looking to the past to learn for the future.

After I posted my blog yesterday I was torn over if it was a good idea or not.  On the one hand I feel like public knowledge of such a situation can not only be useful but influential.  On the other hand after all that has happened there really is not much good that can come from posting that.  I do however do not want the point of the post to be lost in all this.  My Mom called me last night and was none to happy with my post.  My Mom is a sweet mild tempered lady that I rarely ever see lose her cool.  She strongly believes that you should never put your fingers to a keyboard in anger.  I would like to share with you the message she sent in the email to me:

John 8:1 - 11 scribes and Pharisees had caught a woman in the act of adultery (the woman commonly referred to as the prostitute) and told Jesus who was teaching in the temple that the Mosaic Law required she be stoned to death. Trying to make an opportunity of this to trick Jesus that they might accuse Him, they, with stones in hand, asked Jesus what He says about the Law. After Jesus tried to ignore their repeated questioning, He told them "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her." One by one each man dropped his stone and walked away.

Jesus was not arguing with the judgment. Nor was Jesus arguing the law nor the woman's guilt. Jesus was arguing with our right to execute the woman. Once all the men had dropped their stones Jesus confronted the woman and asked her if any of the men were still there to condemn her. When she answered "No man, Lord", Jesus told her that neither did He - He forgave her of her sin. He did not excuse the sin of adultery/prostitution, he forgave her of it. All behavior and thought that is sinful before forgiveness is still sinful after forgiveness. Not only was Jesus not afraid to call a sin a sin, He was not afraid to call a sinner a sinner. He even reminded her of the sin of adultery/prostitution by telling her "Go and sin no more."  (in other words: he told her what he thought and then he let it go)

 I was raised Catholic, but will be the first one to admit that I have not kept up with my faith.  This message really spoke to me and ultimately caused me to take down my message.  While I am still angry about what happened, I certainly do not act without fault myself.  Not to be lost in all this is still the ultimate point: take responsibility for your actions.  I still strongly believe that relationships are gained or destroyed based on this point.  With all my blog posts I attempt to reflect on my issues and hopefully help someone out there that may be experiencing something similar.  The line that resonates with me the most from this entire passage is: "All behavior and thought that is sinful before forgiveness is still sinful after forgiveness."  

Thank you for reading. 

1LT Todd Weaver 101st Abn (AASLT) 2ND BN 502NDINF REG KIA 09 SEPTEMBER 2010

Since I have been blogging more constantly lately, I knew that eventually this day would come.  They day that I would have to explain to all my readers why I am the way I am.  Sure my parents, teachers and mentors helped mold me to who i am, but those are minute examples compared to how my life has changed in the past year.  Maturity is an interesting word.  People who have it, know it, and those that don't tend to attribute some form of themselves to having it.  Ie.  I am mature when I am at work, or I am mature around a lower ranker soldier. Maturity is one of the most inflated human words that I know.  Ask a man, "how mature are you."  surely the response will center around an insight or two to gain your trust and then leave with a , "Well to be honest I think i am more mature than the people I meet."  People inherently do not want to be immature.  So in any situation where a person doesn't want to be perceived a certain way, you can lie.

I myself always considered myself a mature young man, who understood the social norms and cultural nuances.  I was a college graduate of a distinct university and a leader amongst men.  Oh course I was mature.  But on September 9, 2010 my total incompetence in this field was realized and my world was crushed.

The Battalion Commander ended the briefing with a "oh and" something that always signifies an additional assignment and actually more interesting than any other part of the mission.  He said, " Brigade has asked for two Ranger qualified platoon leaders to move over to our field artillery units in the Arghndab River Valley, to take over platoons. "   Our field artillery unit there was having severe issues at the soldier and leader level.  Men going on patrol in tennis shoes, no body armor on, un armed, crazyness.  After the meeting the battalion commander walked off, and without asking his commanding officer Jake Ivey and Todd Weaver made a b line for the Battalion Commander.  They volunteered themmselves for this new and quite frankly more dangerous session. Stop, go back, understand.  They VOLUNTEERED to go on this mission, not because they were war junkies, but because they saw soldiers in need of leadership guidance.

48 hours later Todd and Jake were loaded on a helicopter.  My two best friends, that had been sleeping in the bed next to me for the past 3 months were now about to leave and I was not sure when I would see them again.  I shook there hands and they flew off into the dessert.  I thought nothing of it, just happy they had gotten to lead soldiers again in combat and walked away.

We rarely heard from them for the next month, and tried to send them supplies when we could.  I would frequently check updates on the computer just to ensure Todd and Jake were safe.  I knew they were involved in some serious fighting but still going hard.  I talked to Emma a couple of times online trying to encourage her how low the danger level was.

2300 US eastern time 0730 Kandahar time September 9, 2010
A morning patrol had been sent out from the FOB and LT Weaver was at the lead.  As always he was showing the soldiers how to more properly do there job.  He had an air about him that encouraged learning.  He rairly belittled a soldier or made them feel unappreciated.  Todd's complete leadership philosophy can be summed up into one phrase, "Lead from the front"  Todd was ultra competitive and wanted to be the best at everything.  Given this, he had to be the best at everything and lead from the front for his men.

The platoon he took over was still trying to learn how to run through normal raid and ambush operations on the morning of the 9th.  1LT Weaver as he did on multiple patrols moved forward to see what the hold up was.  He solved the situation and decided ok, ill stay up here to help you guys out.  1LT Weaver, the senior most ranking soldier in the platoon, was now running point aka lead man.  He was going to set in a gun position to cut off the Taliban from fixing coordinated attacks in a known area.  As he stepped forward to clear the area, he stepped on a massive IED that sent his body into the air.  In fact there is a disgusting youtube video that was taken after this accident where all his men are in a circle weeping from his loss. Weeping, grown men, 5 or 6 of them openly crying on the battlefield over the loss of there great commander. I cant believe someone would tape that.  Mixed reports began to flood in about what was going on, the first one said we have a triple amputee and he needs help soon.  The next report transitioned to we have an american hero on the ground her (aka dead us soldier).  I was not there so I have no clue how exactly Todd passed away, yes I know the pressure plate and the tiny details but the others have been lost.

When I was told about this at my FOB some 20 miles away, I literally went into shock.  I lost control of all my bodily functions and tears ran down my face uncontrollably.  I walked to the company TOC to meet Bryson, the whole way having to wipe tears from my eyes.  I remember being like a four year old who was crying so hard he couldnt breath.  I was torn apart and couldnt comprehend the knowledege that had just been told to me.  Bryson and I had worked with Todd for almost two years at this point.  We embraced in a tear full hug and then heard pop shots over the wall.  We grabbed our weapons, ran up, and searched for any thing remotely suspicious to take our sadness and anger out on.  We saw nothing, fell back to the TOC, and in a tear full embrace, got lost for a minute or hour or two.

Todd went to William and Mary, was a cowboys fan and loved life in America.  I am single but i have seen a lot of young couples interact.  Todd loved his little daughter Kiley and loved his wife Emma so much.  He loved his job so much, he was willing to volunteer to taken on a second leadership roll in the worst part of the country to help out a fellow unit.  It was his second deployment, as an enlisted soldier he was in Iraq for a while.  Funny story of during his R and R he ran out in a pouring rainstorm to kiss Emma and the rest is history.  The man made minimal mistakes and was hardfast in his decision making, but all that aside his best attribute was how much he cared, about his job and about people.

I still think about Todd everyday.  I cry from day to day when I think about the idea that I will never see my friend again.  I cry thinking about how Kiley will barely have ever known her Dad.  And I cry because id do anything to change what happened.  There is no question, Todd was ten times the Man that I was or may ever be.  I would gladly trade with him if it allowed the betterment of his family and his daughter.

This week, admits all the 9/11 celebrations please think about Todd Weaver who passed away today September 9, 2010 in Kandahar.  He was an incredible husband, father, and a great friend.  My only regret is that more people in this world never got to know the truly incredible guy he was.  I love you Todd.

The things that never come off me

When I was a kid my Mom used to buy me watches in order to keep track of time.  I would say somewhere around the 6th grade my Mom stopped this practice because it was becoming way to expensive and unpractical.  Not that my family did not have enough money to pay for a new watch, but I could never keep track of one for longer than a week before it magically disappeared.  I have extremely sensitive skin and hate to have things around my wrists or wear chains around my neck.  As a kid I would just take them off when they were uncomfortable and they would end up somewhere, I like to blame the nasty laundry gnomes.  You know the guys that steal that other sock out of the dryer.  I often think of why I was so forgetful with these things, and I guess I attribute it to lack of caring for the object.  Telling time was unimportant to me as a child and sporting some new chain was equally as unimportant.  However, as an adult now there are two objects that are never removed from my body at all times.  I wear them in the shower, I wear them when I work out, and one of them I was wearing while I was blown up.  Id like to share with you the story of my two priceless objects.

My family has an interesting tradition on Christmas Eve.  All seven of us pile into the van and drive over to 5 pm mass, promptly followed by a Christmas party at my dad's friend Mike's Christmas Party, and then back to the house where each kid is allowed to open one gift from a family member.  This is usually followed by somewhat childish excessive drinking and Sportscenters year in replay show, great show.  As I sat there deciding which gift to open on the night before Christmas, I decided to go with what my Mom had given me.  She handed me a small package, neatly wrapped like all Moms do, and I pulled the paper away.  Inside was a silver chain and two medallions.  The first medallion was the sign of St. Michael the patron saint of Soldiers.  I had just graduated West Point in May and I think my Mom knew that I needed some strength.  The second medallion was of two hands crossed in prayer, on the back read the serenity prayer.  I put it on over my head and said thank you Mom.

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

As I laid there on the Battalion Aid table my world was coming in and out.  It seemed like 15 people must have been shining lights in my eyes and the PA was prodding and bending my foot causing excruciating pain.  My best friend Bryson came running into the building out of breath.  They were now putting an oxygen mask over my face trying to calm me down from the shock.  They were cutting off all my clothing to expose the shrapnel wounds and make sure I wasnt hit in other places as well.  After cutting off all my clothing they reached for my necklace with the two medallions, I grabbed the medics hand, pulled my mask off and said, "No, that stays."  He nodded to me and went back to work on my leg.  I laid in bed after making the flight from KAF to Germany, and I felt more alone than ever before.  But my St. Michael's medallion kept me company and my serenity prayer calmed me down.  I fiddled with them in my hand for five days until they finally sent me back to the states, no one was going to take that off me, no matter how messed up I was.  

The second object that never leaves my body, is relatively new.  For those of you who are not in the military or unaware of our traditions, one of the most cherished is our "In honor of" bracelets.  If you are ever out and see someone who is wearing a black bracelet, either on the right or left wrist, it symbolizes the loss of a friend and Soldier.  My bracelet was made this past December, never comes off my wrist.   The bracelet reads simply: "1LT Todd Weaver 101st ABN (AASLT) 2ND BN 502ND INF REG KIA 09 SEP 2010"  Its a daily reminder of the sacrifice that my friend made.  I never take it off and at the same time I wish I never had to wear it.  Not in the sense that I do not wear it with pride, I would just rather have my friend here than immortalized in a bracelet.  The best part about the bracelet is the opportunity it provides.  It provides me the opportunity to share with other the incredible story of Todd. Quite often someone will see it and say unknowingly, "Hey cool bracelet, what is it?" I then tell them about my friend and his incredible heroism and leadership.  If you are ever out at a bar or restaurant, on the subway or buss, and you see one of  these, go up to the person and simply say, "Tell me about your friend?"  It may hurt for them to do, but they want to tell you and they want to share the story of the ultimate sacrifice.

Thank you all, and god bless. 

Overcome with Emotions Part 1

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 Im about to go to bed on the night of the 5th and I am overcome with emotions.  It has become cultural, in my opinion, to describe sadness as "emotions".  There is no negative connotation with emotions, but with sadness, certainly through expression, people conclude that something must be wrong with you as an individual.  I am sad tonight.  This sadness has been building up over the past 361 days and it hit me tonight.  The most influential experience in my life thus far has had nothing to do with me blowing up and being injured.  This next week, this set of emotions and how I sift through them, they will far off define the most "influential experience" of my life.  With the cliche mention of 9/11 coming up, I will submit to you that through my 25 years of my life, this certainly will be the worst week of my life.  I am still an immature, unfound person searching for what it is  I am....who I have become....and what to do next.  See everyone points to 9/11 when there life infinitely changed, but for me that wasnt the case.  I always wanted to be in the army, war or not, my life changed on 9/9.  September 9, 2010.  That was the September day that my life changed.  Certainly 911, put a mark on me but a mere scrape compared to the piece of me that is now gone after September 9, 2010.  Throughout my life I have realized that sleep is the one point in a mans life where they consciously reflect : "should have taken i91 instead of i84, should have called her, should have done more for my mom......"  Past what most individuals reflect on I want to share with you my raw totally uncut mind chatter is as I lay down to bed on September 4, 2011

So as I lay down the following thoughts go through my mind:

"Is the door locked?  Yes but it can be broken.  Are the windows locked? Yes but they have access in.  What is the threat? some crazy guy off the street to break in on me.  Aside form the locks, keys, cameras, who is there to help me?  no one but the probability is low of attack.  But woah attack? Thats a harsh word, if there is 2% chance of an "attack" do I sleep it off logically or as a combat leader do I fully understand that 2% is 2% and stand on edge at all times. "

I juggle with this every night.  I check every door and window in my apartment twice before I sleep.  For me, I will never be snuck up on again.  The last time I allowed someone to dictate what I was doing I was blown up and nearly sent home in a body bag.  My friend, my best friend, had done the same thing 09/9 and didnt not fair as lucky as I was.  See what civilians dont understand about soldiers is that the danger is always there to us.  Its the reason I shook my mom this weekend when she tried to wake me up out of a dead sleep.

Risk falls from 0 percent to 100 percent; I worked in math and I understand that.  But actual risk and perceived risk are totally different.  War tends to warp you into a realm of perceived risk, sometime correlated to the phrase of "being on edge".  Being on Edge can be defined as an individual who always think something wrong is preceding the future.  War warps an individuals ability to perceive risk.  Soldiers go two ways on this: one soldier risks everything upon return because he is a risk junky and the other soldier shades from all risks and those risks run his world.

I am the latter.  I have yet to have a good nights sleep since I returned home 11 months and a day home.  No door can withstand a breakthrough, no firescape window can be bullet proff, if someone wanted me they could get to me.  All humans understand this and apply some risk factor towards the probability of it actually happening. Given that there is only a 1.5 percent chance your apartment is borken into, you should feel very safe on all occasions.  To a soldier coming home from overseas, that 1.5 percent is enough to keep them all night waiting.  Something moves out of place, some house toy makes too loud of a noise, or maybe a premonition in a dream and I am wide awake, add 30 minutes until I fall asleep again.  I am 25 years old and I can not sleep without the TV on and a close light at my hand because of the fear.  Of all the scenarios, I can not put myself in a place where I may get flanked or snuck up on; and it dominates my thoughts.  My bed lies in the corner of the room, not the center to prevent space on each side.  My door is triple locked and I sleep facing every entrance to ensure not being snuck up on.  I wake up 8-12 times a night, consciously begging myself not to close my eyes again.  I fight my subconscious on what is real or made up in my dreams.

This my friends is an inside look to the mental outlook of a man who has seen and been through more than his 24 year old brain can comprehend.  This week I will truly honor my best friend Todd Weaver who passed away September 9, 2010 , I will be stronger man and face my social fears and be confident that you are watching over me.  I love you bro

The road back from being at War is one that needs to be talked about.  And people need to understand how soldiers, including myself, can not sleep after they get back.  Because they levity of the situation they have encored is so big that it dominates there sleep.  Reflection is very hard:  I will reflect on 1LT Todd Weaver all week long until Friday, dont just read my blog, be a player, I actually assign those that want an assignment to reflect on the stories of Todd I will show this week and really take not just 9/11 but Tood Weaver, if you learn only one more thing about Todd this whole week than I can rest knowing I did well in this endeavor.

Coming to grips with my "Luck"

Since returning home from combat last October, I have been fighting a constant battle with my body; physically and mentally.  I always considered myself to be an emotional person and there were not many situations in my life that I took lightly.  I always envied my brother Sean's ability to be so Happy go Lucky.    For me it was different.  I analyze everything, making it very difficult for me to find sense in insensible situations.  War unfortunately does not mesh extremely well with this extreme incongruity.  The Soldiers that seem to fair the best are those who accept some form of total randomness in the world.  Unfortunately this is not me, so when I stepped on an IED, I have been constantly analyzing why me and why then, below is my analysis.

With every IED there are essential parts or components that make up the whole:

- A container- used to house anywhere from 20lbs to 2,000 lbs of home made explosives
- The main charge- usually home made explosive or fertilizer in Afghanistan (Ammonium Nitrate)
- Power source-  used to power the system
- The trigger- In my case this was two pieces of plywood separated by two bike springs and attached in the middle was a negative wire on one plywood and a positive wire on the other.  Stepping on this compresses the springs, the wires meet and the circuit is completed.
- The initiator- Some form of explosive ordnance which creates an explosion and sets off the main charge aka the spark

In my case, the container was a yellow water jug.  Inside was the main charge, 40lbs of home made explosives (picture yourself picking up a 40lbs dumbbell, now that dumbbell is the street equivalent of crude TNT).  Sitting on top of it was a blasting cap or a couple lbs of TNT (obviously not recovered after the explosion).  Attached to that, wires that ran up to the pressure plate of plywood that would soon launch me skyward.

When I say I have analyzed why me and why did this happen, I have never analyzed nor regretted my decisions of that day.  My Platoon was under fire, I took evasive action to cover their flank and got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.  What I have analyzed is why I am still alive today?  See to complete my story of the IED, when I stepped on the pressure plate and those two wires met it did complete the circuit.  However, only the initiator, several lbs of TNT enough to brake every bone in my foot and launch me into the air, went off.  40lbs of home made explosive....never went off.  40lbs that would have surely killed me instantly, probably killed or maimed several of my Soldiers who were approximately 10 meters away and caused massive loss to the Platoon lay there, unexploded, even after the initiator had rendered my foot inept.

Weeks earlier my best friend Todd, whom I wrote about earlier, had found himself in the exact same situation.  Unfortunately, Todd's batch of homemade explosive did go off and I lost my best friend September 9, 2010, only two weeks prior to my incident.  I remember laying in my hospital bed at Kandahar Airfield late on the first night after the accident.  General Hodges (American Forces ISAF- S liaison) had just pinned on my purple heart, and the room now was quiet.  Just me and two other critically wounded Soldiers lay there.  It was the first time I had been in the dark since my world went dark for two minutes immediately following the explosion.  There was one thing I kept thinking about and still ask myself daily.  "Todd had a young wife, a little daughter, and was the most morally and religiously sound person I had ever met.  He was mature, knew his path and was in the prime of his life.  Myself, I was not married, no kids, still a confused 24 year old trying to wander through a world that I couldn't quite figure out.   Why had my life been spared and his life not?  Why was an immature little kid like myself still here, and Emma and gorgeous little Kiley left without a husband and a Dad?  Why?"

My Mom and I drove down Storrow Drive south and made our way out of the city.  The tears had yet to leave her eyes and again she hid behind her sunglasses.  I sat there staring out the window and watching people run along the Charles.  It was a brisk sunny November day but people were out.  My Mom broke the silence, "Its just so sad," she said voice cracking from the tears, "I sat there and I am so thankful you are here, but I know what it could have been.  I saw what it could have been in his eyes."  We had just finished up lunch in Boston with Glenn Weaver, Todd's older brother.  The man was nice enough to bring my Mom a bouquet of flowers just for sacrificing her time to drive me into the city and meet him.  I had smiled as I thought of how Todd esk this was. The lunch was selfishly extensively theraputic for me.  I had gotten to share stories about Todd with someone who knew him, had gotten to tell his brother about Todd and mines talks about death and the afterlife. Most importantly to Glenn, we had gotten to share some of Todd's beliefs on his steadfast religion.

I felt my eyes water up, "Mom I dont know what im doing anymore.  Three weeks ago I was killing people and leading my men, and now im watching people run along the charles, chat about nothing on there cellphones and all the while I cant even drive myself into the city, let alone remember anything for longer than 5 minutes without writing it down.  Why am I here?"  She sniffled and without hesitation said, "Today, days like today and being able to help people like Glenn is why you are still here," a smile broke over her face and I could tell she was going to say a "Mom" thing, "And besides who would I take care of if you weren't back here."

John 15:13- Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends

I still struggle daily with my path and what it is im "doing".  Given that my men are home now, every single one of them safe and sound.  Given that my siblings and family are safe and healthy.  And given how much I truly respected and Loved 1LT Todd Weaver, if I had to go back, there is only one thing I would change about being in Afghanistan...I wish I could have taken his place.  Please dont take this the wrong way, I am not suicidal nor would I ever want to put that pain on my family or friends.  Soldiers share an inseparable bond that can not be explained nor deciphered.  It is stronger than any bond in the world and the only reason my family supersedes that is, well, they were all Soldiers.  And I am sure Todd is smiling down on me saying the same thing or thinking, "Yeah, but I took your place first brother."

The Phone Call

He was hard and tough and wiry- just the sort that won't say die

There was courage in his quick, impatient tread

And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye

And the proud and lofty carriage of his head

As the ketamine slowly wore off, I lay there in my hospital bed.  My mind moved in a figure eight motion trying to ascertain what was real and what was nightmare.  The last conscious memory I had was holding my friend Bryson's hand and telling him, "I'll be damned if my family finds out from some idiot at DA (department of the Army).  Get ahold of my family and tell them i'm ok."  But, did this really happen?  Am I actually still alive?  I surveyed my body.  A huge bulky dressing over my right leg and foot, a wound vacuum attached to my right foot to prevent infection, and bandages all along my right thigh that stung. I looked across the ICU room and noticed a nurse behind a desk.  She looked as though she was in her late 50's wearing a Navy uniform and the rank of Major.  As soon as I noticed her i think she realized I was just now coming to the epiphany that my life was forever changed.  She walked over and in a soft southern draw said, "Hey soldier, you wanna call home?"  

During the week it is not uncommon for my Mom to stay up until 12 or 1 am, doing editing for math or tirelessly scouring the news articles from Afghanistan.  It was a normal routine for her.  Her son Sean had just returned from being deployed from July 2009 until August 2010, and now her son Kyle had been deployed since May 2010.  However, on the weekends my parents usually went to bed fairly early.  Catching the end of a Red Sox game and calling it a night.  My Mom's fear since having children was receiving a late night or early morning phone call regarding one of her children, maybe being involved in a car accident or being hurt some how.  So as the phone rang at 3:00 AM her mind instantly went to her two sons, Sean and Robby, who had just attended the Army vs. Duke football game in Durham earlier that day.  She answered, "Hello?"  I said, "Hi, mom,"  and broke down for the first time since the attack five hours earlier.  Everything hit me at once.  I could feel the pressure plate compressing as it launched me into the air, the screams of my section leader as he feared me dead, the total sadness of leaving my men without their leader on a crucial mission, and the total consciousness of knowing my happy go lucky life was forever different.  Tears fell down my face and I remember being embarrassed as the two other badly injured soldiers in my ICU ward, looked over at me.  In reflection, they knew, they had made this phone call probably hours or minutes prior.  

I tried to find the words to say.  I had not spoken to my parents verbally in three weeks.  My Mom was wide awake now, and as most of the older generation does, put me on speaker phone and shoved my Dad to wake up.  She said, "Oh Kyle, what happened?"  I believe she at first thought I was calling to announce one of my friends had been killed, as had been the case weeks earlier.  I tried clearing my throat and croaked out, "I stepped on an IED Mom, im hurt, but im ok."  The tone of the conversation instantly changed, I could hear my Mom step away from the phone and sensed her silence.  From knowing my parents for so long, I could tell my Mom was giving my Dad the look of, "Say something Scott, find out more."  My Dad inquired, "What did you hurt?"  I said, "I broke every bone in my foot, maybe broke my leg," I again paused to regain my composure as I sulkily tried to convey to my parents what was going on, "And I have shrapnel lodged in my right thigh."  My Mom began to cry and my Dad tried to stay strong.  He posed one more command, not a question, but a command, "Come home Kyle."  I replied with the first glimmer of happiness that I had felt since the incident, "I am Dad, I am."

The bond that I shared with the twenty Soldiers on the battlefield, while immense, is no where near that that I have with my parents.  True American Heroes, my parents, both retired US Army Colonels, yes I said both, some people only catch the fact that my father is and do not realize that my Mom is as well. They understand the nature of service and selflessness to the country.  However, as my bond with my Soldiers does not surmount to that with my parents, my parents understanding of service does not surmount to the undying call to protecting their children.  My recovery process, while still on going, has been helped along immensely by this relationship, and I will never forget the phone call that night, mostly for the love and caring nature I heard in their voices.  Thank you all for taking time out of your lives to read what I have to say.  

One of my heroes

So as many of you may know, I came from a military family.  My mother and father were Engineer Colonel's in the US Army for twenty three years.  They both attended USMA and graduated in the class of 1980.  However, as a child I can barely remember any instances where they spoke about the military in front of the kids.  Maybe this was because we were all hell raisers, all playing different sports, at different locations, and at different times.  But, one day when I was young, I remember going through my Dad's stuff in his office and I came across a medal.  This medal was tucked deep down in a drawer, under a bunch of papers.   I opened it up and inspected the ribbon with a heart at the end of it and some funny old man in the middle of the heart (George Washington, but I was no history buff then or now).  I brought it to my Dad and said, "What is this for?"  He said, "Ohh, when Dad was fighting bad people in a bad place, something bad happened, but i'm safe now."  I smiled and ran off to go beat up Sean or make Megan cry.

The doldrums of I-84.  Some of you may know what i'm speaking about.  Its the road that we always take from West Point back up to Massachusetts. And its notorious for its traffic and bad accidents.  This day it didn't bother me.  I had just gotten back from Afghanistan, foot in a massive cast, and my Dad and I were driving home for a few days prior to my reconstructive surgery.  My whole life I had, as common knowledge, known that my Dad was wounded while serving in Grenada. Somewhere along the way I had pieced together that it had something to do with shrapnel, his rear end, and some form of friendly fire.   As we drove, I thought to myself and with a puzzled befuddlement in my head realized, "I have never asked my Dad what happened that day."  Given what had just happened to me, I figured today may be a good day to ask.  I said, "Dad, I didn't want to join your purple heart club, but now that I did, you think you could tell me how you got hurt?"  He smiled, laughed a little bit and said sure.

Grenada was a small country located just north of South America.  In 1983 the US launched Operation Urgent Fury as part of its Cold War strategy to keep the Russian influence away from America.  Units from the 82nd airborne division, Rangers, and this new group called "Delta"  were deployed and charged with securing the island.  After engaging in a complete cluster mess upon landing on the airstrip secured by the Rangers, my Dads company moved down a ridge line to set in security.  Upon daybreak, they were tasked with clearing a compound about 300 meters to their front.  In preparation for clearing they continuously took sniper fire from a nearby building.  With reporters scheduled to come in and observe the raid, my Dad's company commander turned to him and said, "Hey Snook, get your ass to the top of the hill and have them drop some mortars on that building."  My Dad said, "Roger, Sir."  And took off up the hill.

At the top of the hill was Corps headquarters and artillery assets for the ground troops.  My Dad met up with the battalion fires officer and prepared to give him the coordinates.  As he did so, he heard the roar of an A-7 gunship come flying overhead, he thought,"Hmm weird."  He watched as the US Navy plane did a circle and re-attacked.  He cant recall if he told people to get down but he himself dove to the ground as the A-7 began to fire its machine guns into the corps headquarters and surrounding area.  Bullets the size of a first came raining down on the unsuspecting US troops on the ground.  A soldier to his left had a round strike him and sent him flying through the air, his legs were gone.  Several others lay on the ground screaming in pain from rounds that had hit or shrapnel thrown up.  My Dad lay on the ground and watched in horror as the A-7 circled around again for a second gun run.  People scrambled to get as low as possible, hide behind any piece of gods earth as the second run came screaming through.  More people hit and my Dad felt it as his right side began to burn. Shrapnel had caught him but he still felt ok.  People waving and screaming as the A-7 made another turn, except this time, no gun run, just a 500lbs bomb dropped from its payload.  Everyone hit the deck again, hoping for the best, but merely expecting the worse.  5 seconds went by, boooom, the bomb had missed and the A-7 pealed off.  Realizing the relative vulnerability of the unit, a small enemy force had gathered in the wood line and began to open fire on the now dazed troops.  My Dad stood up to counter and was struck by an Ak-47 round that sent him to the ground.  He lay there wondering, "What the fuck just happened."  People screaming all around, the soldier with no legs hanging on to life, another next to him trying to figure out why his boot was now full of blood.  The attack had been repelled, and my Dad looked up to see his highest ranking Non commissioned officer standing over him.  "Give me your hand Snook."  And he threw him over his shoulder and ran Forest Gump style back to the airfield where medical treatment awaited.

The soldier who lost his legs would not make it through surgery.  The numbers are sketchy depending on what source you go to, but several dead and 16-20 wounded in one of the worst friendly fire attacks in our nations history.  A story that rarely gets told.  In fact, you ask the average 15-25 year old now adays, "Tell me about Grenada?"  They would look at you as though you were on drugs or trying to offer them free candy from a white van with no windows.  But, people, with families were forever scared in this short war.  The story is not what makes my Dad my hero.  His ability to be the man he is after encountering this is what makes him my hero.  My Dad never bragged, boasted about his Purple Heart.  Heck the man lost it and refound it in a couple moves that we made  See the cream is in this, we can not control what happens to us in this world, but we certainly can control how we handle it afterwards.   Thank you Dad for your guidance, bravery and humble nature.