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.