Son,
I have missed our talks - it has been far too long. I suppose the toughest part of the blog is the commitment - it truly requires constant feeding and care, and I have ignored it. My failure has likely resulted in some deep chasm in your learning, but you are sharp - I am sure you will overcome. Sometimes life simply gets in the way of what is important. And sometimes, what is important takes precedence over writing notes which won't get read until you are older and have already begun ignoring my advice.
Much has changed in our lives, but I suppose you have seen that - you have a little sister now, cherubic and rotund as all healthy babes are. She is the image of your aunt Hannah but lesser educated folk will tell you she looks like your mother. I suppose time will tell. And you have handled it brilliantly. Rather than be a snotty brat, chomping for attention, you have found attention comes when you are attentive and you exemplify the protective brother in every way. I could not be more proud.
A week after she was born, we uprooted you and moved you to New Jersey - I promise - it wasn't as bad as it sounds (the move, or living in New Jersey). You handled it well, and today, I joined you for lunch at school, and you were surrounded by a room full of kids - all of whom looked like they had known you for years. I was too proud. But in the coming weeks, change is on the horizon again - another move, another town, and another school. I am sure that this comes with its own pains, but I know too that your mother and I will make more out of it than you ever will. You are a champ and soon you will have a room all your own again, strewn only with your clothes, your toys. So clean up will you?
And this weekend, I too am coming home, in some ways. This weekend is the closing of the Armory where my National Guard unit met for one weekend a month. Located in the heart of North Philadelphia, between some tough neighborhoods, and LaSalle University, the Armory was never much to look at, but inside it housed a history of stories that shall never be repeated. And from these stories, I learned a great deal about life - its value and its bonds with others. Not all of the stories were good, but everything had a story to it.
There are too many to tell here and many are still likely to get some old friends divorced, killed or jailed, but suffice it to say, I will miss that place after it has been bulldozed (after the EPA cleans up the oil leaks and asbestos which no doubt floats through that place.) The musty smells of the basement, the scent of gun oil in the arms room, and even the stench of the urinals that never seemed to be clean will all stay with me forever. I remember coming in for drill one weekend to find a drug addict sleeping in a wrecked car in the parking lot, and I remember taking your cousin CJ on a tour of the tanks and machine guns inside the fenceline. Tonight, I can even remember back to my first drill weekend at the armory after returning from Basic Training - I was late because no one told me what time to be there, I got my first counseling statement from Tony Gray (you will meet him someday, I promise), and I met my Platoon Sergeant, Ted Stowell, who taught me more about being a man than anyone I ever knew. Some day I will even tell you about Kevin Hall - a story too long for any blog, but one which is exemplified by the statement (about your mother) "Damn, Sergeant Port, your wife got a phat ass". (I think she secretly liked it) While many of my ramblings will apply to your sister as well, I suspect that she won't appreciate this like you will.
Since I left in 2004, much has changed. Many of these men are out of service now, or have come and gone to Iraq, Afghanistan, Egypt, or some other country long abandoned by civilization or Gods. I am going back these weekend to see these folks for perhaps one last time, before I etch my service into my memoirs, but that place will never be forgotten even after it has been replaced by condos, or projects or a supermarket. The camaraderie that comes from a crew of guys who have no one else who appreciates their stories is unlike anything else you will ever experience and it is not soon forgotten. I hope you experience it and I hope those friendships last you as long as mine have. For me, my relationships in high school, grade school, college and beyond, pale in contrast to the brotherhood I was so fortunate to build in that old building in North Philadelphia.
