While I haven’t written in two weeks, it doesn’t mean I am not having fun. It is just a coincidence. Sitting here in limbo, we train as we intend to fight in training.
Our training has moved from the basics, thing which we learning in Basic Training, to more advanced infantry fighting. While the basics showed us how to move as individuals (crawling, for laypersons), we have learned now how to crawl as a group of 18 soldiers. These soldiers can now “fire and maneuver”, a principle where some of the group sits and shoots while the others crawl or charge, forward or backward to their objective. We begin this by talking it through, then we practice. And then we run it with “fake” blank ammunition. And then we run it live ammunition. The training is designed to build confidence in your buddies, without requiring you to lay your life on the line.
Every day, we encounter a similar set or facts and circumstances, which we approach with the same method as the day before. We find then that while the facts of the situation are the same, the approach we must take is different, as the evaluator has changed.
I think one of the most magical parts of my life today is knowing the technical advances our society has made. When my old neighbor Joe Patrizio came to Ft. Indiantown Gap for his training prior to World War II (same barracks, different paint, probably), he came without much contact from home. Letters were few and far between, and the people who wrote him were trying to ration their stamps, paper and other commodities. I think, as my history is terrible.
On July 8th, I realized how far we have come. I received a “care package” of the most disturbing sort. Those cardboard storage boxes, businesses use for their long term storage of files, and other materials, was the transport of choice in this case. It would seem that some co-workers of mine discovered exactly how much stuff could be shaken from the candy machine. The amazement from technology stems from the potent chemicals which kept the krimpets, coffee cakes, and other pastries alive for the several days the package was in transit and the several more it sat in a military post office, as they don’t deliver mail while I am attending to the important bar-b-ques over the July 4th weekend. Patriotism only goes so far.
While I am thoroughly grateful for everything that was sent, and for the effort that went into the package, I found a few more notable items.
Rocco Albano – Rocco is a quick talking, Mercedes driving, South Philadelphian with a fast wit, and an even faster way of getting himself in trouble. Rocco’s contribution to the Bosnian Comic Relief effort was four quarters. ($1.00). He either got this money from my desk prior to my departure, or from trading illegal playing cards on eBay.
Emily Goodwin – Emily is pure of heart and dedicated to the many social causes designed to protect our earthly existence for the next million years. Low emission vehicles, and preservation of life are among the causes she fights for. She is the truest of patriots as her dedication extends beyond the nation and to the planet. He contribution was a die cast metal HUMMER, the kinds Rap Stars and wanna-be-outdoorsmen park in their driveways, so that lesser men can ogle their shiny trucks. I loved it as it had the message inscribed in 3M Post It notes – The freedom I am defending is ‘. . .cheap gasoline for SUV owners.” I laughed out loud.
Richard Schwartz – Rich is intensity. Occasionally unbridled and unrestrained, but intensity. While I can’t directly attribute the Kodak disposable camera to Rich, his last words to me as I left three weeks ago were “Just do me a favor. Send me a picture of you sitting on the hood of the HUMM-VEE, wearing nothing but your boots, your helmet, your rifle and a smile. I got his smile.
Other notable items which made the box, but went un-signed –
The sign of a former co-worker – My disturbed habit of collecting peoples former name plates seems to have outlived me, and even in my absence will hopefully live on. Beware any new people. If you sign shows up in my old cell, I mean office, you should consider packing your things. Bad things are in your future.
The airline bottle of Jack Daniels – I have strong reason to believe that this was stolen from aboard a plane during a sales call to the west coast. I am worried that my former brethren (sip) think I may (sip) have a problem controlling my (sip, sip) consumption.
The Can of Whoop Ass – A soda orders by another former MBC employee through a perverse catalog, Whoop Ass is a sick cocktail of amphetamine, caffeine and soda water. (Not really, but don’t drink this if you intend on sleeping. Ever.)
I know I didn’t mention everyone, but this is not an Emmy acceptance speech, and I only picked on those I love. (No, really Rocco, I mean it.) I know that among the many loving signatories, there were a few who really went the extra mile. I really appreciate it, and on my return, please know that I will repay the favor. If someone would clue me in on who they were, I will save the last drink for them. Thank you. And if someone could please explain to Andrew that no matter how many times I tell the Army, I am not really gay.
The really great thing about the care package concept is the surprise. It is one of the few last surprises in my life as I enter my mid-thirties. The surprise comes from not knowing when it is coming or what is inside. I had heard rumors through e-mail of its contents, and the occasional call, but when it arrived I tore it open with more passion than many of my high school girlfriends dresses. I was told later that I have been the only care package so far this year and the post office here on base hasn’t seen one in memory.
A lament running through this monologue is the re-kindled annoyance at technology. I can remember the last time I was away from home for longer than two weeks. In 1990, I entered US Army Basic Training, at Ft. Benning, Georgia. Phone calls with the outside were a seldom provided privilege. Mobile phones were not around, in full force, and e-mail was something still in development. However, the mail system worked. For pennies, and some free time, you could mail a missive across the country to where your sweetie, or mother, or sister could feel your love, stories, and homesickness as though they were next to you. I learned to appreciate the written word, and savored every letter. (In fact, the cost of receiving a letter was ten push-ups. One kid received ten letters in one day, and had to have his suits altered to fit his increasing chest).
My girlfriend at the time wrote almost daily, and I would reply with discussions of love, the future, and our plans. Some poetry found its way in, and she would reply with even greater zeal. I think to this day, one of the reasons why she pops in my head is that commitment we shared being separated, and the dialog we had 1,500 miles apart. Like prisoners separated by a wall who tap messages to each other, we had our letters, mine often written under the sheets by flashlight, and hers written during any free moment.
Now I have a cell phone that only leads to arguments with my wife, homesickness so heavy my belly feels like it holds a stone balloon, and inadvertent comments which cause me worry.
But I also have the internet. Housed in a building where temperatures hover consistently in the 100’s, the state-of-the-art Compaq computers run at sub-par speeds while their internal mechanisms fail from the heat. I refuse to look at the news, as information comes out daily, and I can use none of it for now. A notable piece of human psychology: When each day is planned to the minute, and when the next six months of days are planned with 90% certainty, world events have no bearing on your life. And when these event have no bearing, then apathy grows. The only thing I am certain of at this point about the news is than barring WW III, we are going to Bosnia. Any other world news is simply noise.
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