Matt came back from three weeks training in Idaho with the Guard. While he was gone they moved him to a new unit and made him a squad leader, or something like that. I never get it completely right. He seems to be enjoying the new position, and once he gets through some kind of leadership training, again I can’t keep all the alphabet soup straight, he will be promoted to E-6. For me E-6 means he is a second level sergeant, also known as a Staff Sergeant. I know this is important to Matt because at this level he can become a trainer, which he really enjoys.
While on this training with his new privates and specialists, he was putting them through their paces. They are getting used to him and he is learning about them. At one point they are running a drill where they are simulating building searches. Matt has all his soldiers stacked up the way he wants them and they’re ready to go. Matt step up and kick in the door with his left leg and oops…. He forgot the liner on his prosthetic that morning. The door bangs open and Matt’s leg goes flying through the opening to land in the middle of the room. While Matt’s arms are pin-wheeling to keep his balance, all his soldiers are frozen place. They can’t believe they’ve seen what they just seen. Their sargeant’s leg is laying in the middle of the room. Apparently Matt hadn’t mentioned to any of them that his leg had special powers. The fun you can have with limbs.
Showing posts with label Army. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Army. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Where did those days go?
This past weekend was pretty busy. One of the big things that happened which really didn’t involve me, but certainly affects my mental outlook, is that Matt (my son) re-enlisted in the Oregon Army National Guard. I have incredibly mixed feelings about it as his mom.
Part of me says he’s given enough and it’s time for him to retire and pursue other interests. (Like finding the right girl, settling down and producing some more grandbabies for me, and preferably keeping them close to grandma so she can see them more then once or twice a year.) He’s already sacrificed a leg to the cause and has had enough stitches to make a quilt. Matt’s argument is that he’s already had his “incident” so he’ll be OK. He says, “How many people do you know that have been blown up twice?” My response is, “None, they’re all dead!”
The other part of me is really happy that he has found something he really loves to do. Someone said that if you find a job you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. I’m not so sure that’s completely true, but I know it’s a true blessing, and a gift to work at what you love. I’ve worked a lot of jobs in my life to make a living, and not because I liked them. Working a job you hate is its own kind of hell on earth. I don’t wish that on anyone.
Matt is really excited because he will be getting a Path Finder MOS. For everyone who has no idea what I’m talking about, a MOS is a job in the Army you are trained for, and/or qualified to do. A Path Finder, from my limited knowledge, is someone who goes out in the day or night and establishes landing zones and operations sites for military aircraft. They also conduct sling load operations (have no idea what that is), provide air traffic control and navigational assistance. He’s very excited. This will be added to the list of MOS positions he currently holds: Infantryman, Calvary Scout, and Mechanic. If it’s dirty, dangerous and mentally challenging; he’s loving it. I long for the days when I was the mother of a mechanic.
Let’s see, the perfect job for Matt’s sense of adventure and my need to keep him safe would something along the lines of Path Finder for an outdoor paintball range. It would be dirty, icky and challenging for Matt, and safe and colorful for me. Somehow I don’t think Matt would see it the same way. I remember when dressing up in a mask and cap to run around the house as the Running Kid was adventure enough for him. Where did those days go? Well OK, I admit I’d be more than a little disturbed if I found him doing that now.
Part of me says he’s given enough and it’s time for him to retire and pursue other interests. (Like finding the right girl, settling down and producing some more grandbabies for me, and preferably keeping them close to grandma so she can see them more then once or twice a year.) He’s already sacrificed a leg to the cause and has had enough stitches to make a quilt. Matt’s argument is that he’s already had his “incident” so he’ll be OK. He says, “How many people do you know that have been blown up twice?” My response is, “None, they’re all dead!”
The other part of me is really happy that he has found something he really loves to do. Someone said that if you find a job you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. I’m not so sure that’s completely true, but I know it’s a true blessing, and a gift to work at what you love. I’ve worked a lot of jobs in my life to make a living, and not because I liked them. Working a job you hate is its own kind of hell on earth. I don’t wish that on anyone.
Matt is really excited because he will be getting a Path Finder MOS. For everyone who has no idea what I’m talking about, a MOS is a job in the Army you are trained for, and/or qualified to do. A Path Finder, from my limited knowledge, is someone who goes out in the day or night and establishes landing zones and operations sites for military aircraft. They also conduct sling load operations (have no idea what that is), provide air traffic control and navigational assistance. He’s very excited. This will be added to the list of MOS positions he currently holds: Infantryman, Calvary Scout, and Mechanic. If it’s dirty, dangerous and mentally challenging; he’s loving it. I long for the days when I was the mother of a mechanic.
Let’s see, the perfect job for Matt’s sense of adventure and my need to keep him safe would something along the lines of Path Finder for an outdoor paintball range. It would be dirty, icky and challenging for Matt, and safe and colorful for me. Somehow I don’t think Matt would see it the same way. I remember when dressing up in a mask and cap to run around the house as the Running Kid was adventure enough for him. Where did those days go? Well OK, I admit I’d be more than a little disturbed if I found him doing that now.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
My new American friend
Over the last week I have been emailing with a deployed soldier who is of Lebanese decent. He immigrated to the U.S. only 5 years ago. During our emails, I mentioned two people I have known in my life who had also immigrated from Lebanon, one a very fine gentleman who was well educated and well thought of in the community, and the other a girl I went to high school with. He was Christian and she was Islamic. He wrote me back to thank me for saying such nice things about his countrymen. This hit me in a weird way. Can you imagine saying something similar to someone, “Thank-you for saying nice things about fellow Americans”?
America is so strong that we generally expect people from other countries to like us, or hate us, and we don’t generally feel it too deeply one way or the other. Sure we feel entitled when they like us, and when they don’t we don’t really care too much about it.
In the same email he asked what my race was. I had mentioned that when we first moved to the Pacific Northwest from Houston that we were more than a little disturbed about the lack of racial diversity here. The answer was easy, I’m not just white, I’m bright white. I’m glow in the dark white. It’s sad how white I am, but there’s nothing I can do about it. God knows I spent my teen years burning in the attempt to change my condition, all to no avail.
My new friend also tells me that he speaks 4 languages. I had to admit that like most Americans I am very poorly educated in languages and only speak English, and sometimes that’s debatable. I can make myself understood in sign language, but at points I get pretty frustrated, the signs get really basic, and might involve only one digit.
He worked as an RN before he came to America but was unable to get licensed here and hasn’t able to practice. He hasn’t said exactly what he does for the Army but I know part of it involves interpreting.
So, here’s a guy with better manners and education then I have, who’s family has been here only 5 years, and who is now helping to keep me safe, and representing my country to the world. I just don’t think there’s a way to convey how humbling that is. I think about my ancestors who came here over 200 years ago to make their futures, all the families that have gown from those first ones. Capt. James Davis fought in the Revolutionary War for the Americans. We’ve had family in just about every war since. There is a feeling of entitlement that we often feel from a history like that, until we come across someone like my new friend and think about how our ancestors must have felt when they hit these shores and were the new kids on the block. Am I entitled by what they did? Will my children be entitled by what I do? What will it mean to be an American in the future?
I feel very fortunate to have made a new friend and to be exploring these questions, because knowing him has opened me up to them.
America is so strong that we generally expect people from other countries to like us, or hate us, and we don’t generally feel it too deeply one way or the other. Sure we feel entitled when they like us, and when they don’t we don’t really care too much about it.
In the same email he asked what my race was. I had mentioned that when we first moved to the Pacific Northwest from Houston that we were more than a little disturbed about the lack of racial diversity here. The answer was easy, I’m not just white, I’m bright white. I’m glow in the dark white. It’s sad how white I am, but there’s nothing I can do about it. God knows I spent my teen years burning in the attempt to change my condition, all to no avail.
My new friend also tells me that he speaks 4 languages. I had to admit that like most Americans I am very poorly educated in languages and only speak English, and sometimes that’s debatable. I can make myself understood in sign language, but at points I get pretty frustrated, the signs get really basic, and might involve only one digit.
He worked as an RN before he came to America but was unable to get licensed here and hasn’t able to practice. He hasn’t said exactly what he does for the Army but I know part of it involves interpreting.
So, here’s a guy with better manners and education then I have, who’s family has been here only 5 years, and who is now helping to keep me safe, and representing my country to the world. I just don’t think there’s a way to convey how humbling that is. I think about my ancestors who came here over 200 years ago to make their futures, all the families that have gown from those first ones. Capt. James Davis fought in the Revolutionary War for the Americans. We’ve had family in just about every war since. There is a feeling of entitlement that we often feel from a history like that, until we come across someone like my new friend and think about how our ancestors must have felt when they hit these shores and were the new kids on the block. Am I entitled by what they did? Will my children be entitled by what I do? What will it mean to be an American in the future?
I feel very fortunate to have made a new friend and to be exploring these questions, because knowing him has opened me up to them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
