The Ollie and the Ivy

Here it is.

The 4th Infantry Division Patch on my right shoulder.  Steadfast and Loyal.  Soldiers call it a combat patch. It's the mark of having served in a combat zone. The Ivy is a play on the IV of the Roman numeral 4.  Clever, huh?  I'm proud to wear the patch, but any patch on my right shoulder is an honor.  My 23+ years seem vindicated.  The red tab above it is part of a tourniquet.  We all wear it in the same pocket, so that should it be needed, you know right where to look.  Given the dangers that I am exposed to on a daily basis, I suspect having it is overkill.  I can't fathom the paper-cut or staple stab that might require me to staunch the flow of blood at its arterial source.  I am not kicking in doors, calling for fire or close air support. Mostly, I am reviewing government contracts, policy letterszzzzzzzzzzzz, oh, sorry.....proposed operating procedures, and the transfer of property between NATO Framework nations and guarding pots of money.  It is a very complex command environment.  My new friend Ollie understood this and helped by sending this:

Ollie isn't too great with letters, but he is clearly a strategic thinker, an organizational genius, and a fiscal wunderkind.  His note came in an "Any Soldier" care package.

As you can see, he included the NATO organizational chart.  It is a perfect depiction of the complex international positions and command relationships.  He has also color-coded the lines to better chart the "colors of money" that enable our mission here in Afghanistan.  As you can see, lots of green goes in at the top....and lots of red comes out at the bottom.  Somewhere in the middle things get a little bit messy, but somehow it works.  We're going to complete this mission having done our best for the people of Afghanistan.  Ollie indicates this with what is probably a heart, but  after 5 months away from home looks a little bit like cleavage to me.  I digress. Ollie clearly knew that it was my job to help make all of this work and wanted to help.

Clearly uncertain of what to do with all this, Ollie concluded with "I love you?".  Note the question mark.

Its okay Ollie. It can be a bit confusing, but the 4th Infantry Division and I are doing our best.

I love you too?

Thanks for the box of Savannah Smiles.

Murphy.  He is real and he may be Taliban.

Every Soldier knows that Murphy will attack the moment they leave home.  We know this with the same certainty that you will hit every red light when you’re running late or that having Taco Bell for lunch is delicious but will cause gastrointestinal apocalypse within 20 minutes.

Our experience was no different.   A few days before my flight, we discovered that the icemaker supply valve failed, creating a lovely waterfall in the basement living room.  Hours after my departure, my wife had my beloved dog at the vet for what we thought were allergies.  It was cancer.  She then had to plan his care and a loving end alone.  Arriving home, she noticed water under the washing machine.  This, of course was just before a massive snow storm, which made repairmen scarce.  It also meant it was a great time for the garbage disposal to fall out of the sink.  The same snowstorm led her to drive my previously trusty SUV ...until the window and door latch broke leaving her to climb though the passenger’s side to drive it with the window down in a snowstorm.  This forced her back in to the other car, which already required a screw driver to get it in to gear (I swear I was gonna get to it).  You can just imagine her relief when a helpful neighbor pulled up and informed her that her brake lights weren’t working.  Sadly, this just added an errand when, the next day, two of the four kids became ill.  Meanwhile, the hotel the Army had me in was providing only oatmeal raisin cookies and not chocolate chip.  No, I didn’t tell her that.  Yes, I helped in whatever telephonic ways I could.  I’m not nearly as dumb as I look. 

Ah, the first week done.  Fifty more to go. 

Before you begin sending sympathy checks (remember, my name is with a Y not an I), know that people were there for us.   Some fantastic friends helped move kids, fix cars, find ceiling fixers, lent vehicles and more.  I even have nurse friends volunteering to provide first aid when I come home on pass and Marsha punches me in the face for deploying.  In all of it, we begin to see that we aren’t alone.  Sometimes when people say “call me if you need anything”, they mean it.  Sometimes the church is the Church.  Sometimes, when you ask God for help, He looks an awful lot like a neighbor just watching your daughter for a couple of hours.

Thanks to those who helped us and who help any Soldier’s family.  When you help my wife fix a car door, you have her back.  When you have her back, you have mine.  When I know my back is covered, I can focus on covering another Soldier’s back.  Thats how we all make it home so our spouses can punch us in the face.

Seriously though, oatmeal raisin…THAT is hardship.  Looks like a cookie.  Contains raisins.  Unfixable.

"Are you going to be here tomorrow?"

This innocent question has become part of the night time routine. Spoken in the cutest 8-year-old girl voice you’ve ever heard, it echoes like the war drums that will soon change my answer to her question. 

I would prefer to tell you a story of the courtroom or some silly criminal caper, but this blog is about what I’m doing, and what I’m doing of late is more about preparing to deploy with the Army.  Perhaps in some way I can take you on the roller-coaster with me.  I suspect there will be a great many ups and downs, but hopefully, in the end, it will have been worth it. 

I’m not doing anything that a half a million other Soldiers and their families haven’t endured before.  I’m neither special nor different.  I will likely be as safe as one can be in Afghanistan.  Lets face it, if your lawyer is returning fire…something has gone horribly wrong.  My job is not inherently dangerous.  There will be no movie entitled “Lone Solicitor”, though I think Daniel Craig would do a marvelous job if he can manage a Midwestern accent.  The thing is…its still hard. 

It is a hard thing to leave your wife, even when you know that others are there to support her.  It is a hard thing to leave your children, even when there are others who will help care for them.  It is a hard thing to put aside your cases, handing them off to co-workers (who have yet to complain of it in my hearing).  I am supposed to be there to do all of those things.  I won’t be. 

It is not my intent to whine (even though I am, just a little), but rather to document what I think every Soldier, Sailor, Airman and Marine feels when the Nation calls.    It can leave you downright schizophrenic.  The Soldier is eager to test his training and vindicate his service.  The husband and father laments every missed teacher conference, wrestling match, choir performance, or dinner time conversation of the year that hasn’t yet come.  For the most part, it has been so incredibly busy, that there has been too little time to dwell on what is to come.  Perhaps that is a Divine mercy.  As the day approaches though, it is the small things that are beginning to penetrate the noise.  Small things like the innocent questions of a little girl trying to understand what it all means.

“Yes, sweetie, I will be here tomorrow.”  

“Okay, goodnight daddy…see ya in the morning.”   That may be the secret to making the best of the whole thing; taking it one day at a time. Even so, I already dread the night my answer will be different.

Seriously though, I think Daniel Craig would be a good choice.

Courthouse High

Do you remember that feeling?  The one you had back in High School.  The dance is coming up.  You haven’t asked her out yet, but you’re pretty sure that no one else has either.  You’re not even sure she’s noticed you, but being a man of action you have a plan.  Because you’re in High School, that plan likely involves two bottles of Axe body spray and a detailed wardrobe review…but it just might work.

Welcome to jury selection.  It feels exactly the same, at least for the attorneys.

Should I use product in my hair or is that too pretentious?  What if they don’t like product?  If I do use it, will they think I’m self-absorbed and not like me?  What suit should I wear?  Does the dark one make me look somber or does it make me look like an undertaker?  Will the lighter suit make them think I don’t take this case seriously?  Do I wear the “I’m a conservative prosecutor” tie, or do I go with the flashier “I’m gonna take you all to the SHOW!” tie.  Cologne?  No cologne?  We all know that at some point in the trial, I’m going to get the flop sweats, and maybe the cologne will help cover the scent of fear.  If I wear it, how much is too much?  Is there a sweet spot between “Hi, I’m a middle school boy borrowing my dad’s love mist” and “How YOU doin’ juror number 34?”  Tie bar, or no tie bar.  My watch is silver and my tie bar is gold.  Can I mix those two?  What if they notice?  If they DO notice, what will they think?  Am I gaining weight?  Is that a zit coming on?  Oh sweet heaven, not NOW.  Shoes, oh, the shoes…brown or black?  Do black shoes go with a blue suit?  I don’t think so…but then what about the belt?  Should I eat breakfast?  If I do, I could get gas.  If I don’t, my stomach will make objections in open court.  Is my collar shrinking?

All of these thoughts course through my mind in about a nanosecond on the morning of jury selection.  I’m not sure that any of this makes a difference.  Certainly I shudder to think that a juror’s decision could ever be influenced by my choice of tie.  On the other hand, I think I just caught juror 34 checking me out.  Awww yeah.  I hope my tie said “Guilty”.