America's Son

The Winds of Change

2011-08-04T13:14:00.001-07:00

I am amazed at how quickly life can change; how quickly my life changed. It all started with a telephone call from a very good friend of mine; a friend whom I havn't seen in quite a few years. I hung up the phone, stood in my kitchen and stared at the ceiling - dizzy. I knew that I had just been presented with a life-changing opportunity. I was relatively comfortable. I was happy in my profession. I loved what I did and I found meaning in my career; I worked so hard to get where I was at professionally. That telephone call however, forced me to realize something that deep down, I already knew and had known for a long time. I was tired and frustrated with the financial condition of my family and I was weary from fighting the battles that ride on the backs of financial instability. The ship that my family was on was barely floating and I was at the helm. I was the Skipper and I was derelict. A phone call presented with me with the possibilty of a new direction; a change of course that could set my family on a course to success and financial freedom.

It would require monumental change and sacrifice. It would require resignation from a career that I worked my entire young-adult life and adult life to obtain. It would require extensive periods of separation from my family. It would require me to return to Iraq. In a nutshell, it was a gamble. I was standing at the table, shaking the dice as my family watched. As if the house needed the odds shifted further in their favor, my decision needed to be made within a matter of days. My wife and I sought wise counsel. We prayed. We hoped. I let the dice fly.

Three days after that initial telephone call, I walked into my Lieutenant's office at the police precinct and asked him for a minute. I then handed him my letter of resignation. As I handed that letter to him, I knew it was a monumental moment for me. I knew that it meant that I may never wear the shield again. I stood in his office and I closed my eyes. I saw a young teenage boy. His uniform was pressed, his boots were shined and he carried a no-kidding police issue Mag flashlite! He was a Law Enforcement Explorer with the Portsmouth Virginia Police Department and he was proud. His name was Tim Johnson. Now, here in this moment this same boy, now grown into a man, was walking away from his dream. I heard the Lieutenant clear his throat. I opened my eyes and he was staring at me. His was a mixed look of astonishment and apprehension. I could tell he understood the gravity of this decision and I appreciated that. Everyone that I worked with and for knew the passion that I had for my career. In cop-speak, I was on the fast track. I had the potential for promotion, I was a seasoned operator on the SWAT team, I was a K9 officer and I was a mentor. And now, standing in the LT's office, I was walking away from it all.

In the days that followed, I faced a barrage of "whys" and "what happeneds". No one wanted to accept it. I wasn't sure if I wanted to accept it. Some understood and were supportive, others were skeptical and dismissive. Denial. The day I turned in my badge and gun though, it became real for all of us. I robotically counted my uniforms as I turned them in to the supply officer. It was surreal. I walked out of the back door of Police Headquarters marked “Officer Entrance Only”. As the sound of the door slamming reverberated in my ears, reality quickly set in…”I don’t have a key card to get back in the building anymore. I don’t have a badge. I don’t have a gun. I’m no longer a Cop.” I reached down to my side and rubbed my belt. I felt naked. I watched cars drive by for what seemed like an eternity as I stood there on the steps. I sat down and put my head in my hands. It wasn’t too late. I could still explain that it was a mistake. I envisioned myself knocking on the door and pleading my case. Surely they would understand. It wasn’t too late. I looked up and saw my patrol car sitting in the parking lot….the City of Suffolk’s patrol car. It stung. I stood up on wobbly legs and walked to my truck. My ride was over. At least for now.

I still had not faced one of my greatest fears. I had not spoken to my parents about my decision. My wife and I agreed that as a show of solidarity, she and I should go together to speak to them and inform them of our decision. I sat on their couch in the living room of their home and took in a deep breath. I inwardly said a prayer and quickly realized that I needed help. I couldn’t find the words. My parents and I have a very unique relationship. My respect for them is very deep-seated. And as any son should, I wanted them to understand why I was doing this. Their understanding of this decision was pivotal. I didn’t need their approval, acceptance or blessing. The decision had been made between my wife and I in our home; in the end, this is what truly mattered. It was done. The die had been cast. What would make this decision very difficult for me to live with should it fail however, was to not have the understanding of my parents. I needed them to understand why it was that I was walking away from my career; why I was voluntarily for the third time going to a war-torn country. My words were going to either garner their understanding, or my words were going to lead to confusion and disappointment. I needed help. I reached for the hand of my wife, for the hand of my Mother who was sitting next to me and I prayed aloud. Then, I began.

I began as delicately as I could. I wasn’t ready yet to drop the bomb. I presented it as an opportunity; as an option. Then, almost without thinking, I said, “I resigned from the Police Department yesterday. I’m leaving Monday”. I looked at my wife and she smiled at me. In her smile, I saw support and encouragement. I looked at my Mother. She gently began to cry. My Father, in his stoic nature, stared at the floor. I steeled myself for the oncoming barrage. “Son”, my father said calmly and pragmatically, “I think you would be crazy not to pursue this opportunity. I wish that when I was your age with a young family that I would have been presented with an opportunity like the one that you have been presented.” My Mother began to cry in earnest. “I am a Mother”, she said. “I don’t want to see you go back over there, but I think that you have some kind of unfinished business over there”. “I don’t want to see you go”, she said, “but I think you may need to for you.” “For me?” “For me?”, I thought. I searched her words for a deeper meaning. The very last reason I was doing this was for me. This was for my family. I didn’t want to walk away from a career that I worked so hard to attain; a career that I loved and would have done pro bono. This wasn’t for me, nor was it some sort of quest that I was on. It wasn’t about me. It was about my wife and daughters and our long-term well-being. I quickly realized that my Mothers words had a face attached to them. I heard similar words before from both of my sisters, and the face was the same for them too…They were seeing Adam.

Repression

2009-09-21T15:52:00.000-07:00

I heard a song yesterday that took me back to that all too familiar stare. I heard the first few notes, I closed my eyes and there I was...I was driving that Humvee down MSR (main supply route) Bronze heading outside the wire in Al Qaim, Iraq. I was proud of my ingenious setup. I rigged my Ipod and some external computer speakers there in the Humvee so that I could hear a refrain replay in my head other than, "Please don't blow up...please don't blow up" as I drove passed IED craters in the road. The song that I heard yesterday was one of my favorites at the time; Bad Company. And as is so often the case, I began to think about one small, minute (read small) memory of that place and I was fixated for an hour.

In that hour, I found understanding. I found release. I found peace. I found peace because I accepted that it will never go away. It gets easier as time and age replaces my memories, but it will never completely go away. A song, a smell, a sight, a sound and I will be right back there. I will return to the war-induced numbness that I had over there-for the rest of my life-at the simple hearing of a song. And it was and is just that...a numbness; an apathetic acceptance of my mortality. It was a coping mechanism. I thought I was over it. Yesterday, a song showed me otherwise.

I am not unique. I am not special. I am not alone. The very few Vets that I have spoken to, simply smile as I tell them of my condition. It is in that smile that I know I am perfectly normal and I am not alone. Their smiles say, "Welcome to our world. Your story sounds like life to us." I lost a part of my life over there, and a song showed me yesterday that I will never, ever get it back.

"He's Got a Knife! I'm Going to Shoot!"

2009-03-21T13:47:00.000-07:00

It never gets any easier. As soon as you say "That's the closest I've ever came", on the next call you inch a bit closer. The situation becomes that much more violatle. The trigger gets squeezed a bit further to the rear. It's so much easier to accept when they are shooting at you. It's easier to rationalize. It's easier to stomach. There are so many less variables. But when you are staring down the sights of your weapon at a man who is babbling like a man possessed, who clearly has no understanding of his actions and their potentially lethal consequences, it sucks.

It sucked for me last Wednesday night. I stared down the sights of my weapon and accepted the fact that tonight, I was going to once again, be forced to shoot a man. I remember thinking that we all were so damned close...I couldn't back up any more. He was already an arm's length away. I knew that as soon as I ripped the blankets down from the doorway and was met with a waving butcher-knife. "He's Got a Knife, I'm Gonna Shoot". I saw no other logical solution. I was assigned lethal coverage and now this unfortunate task had landed squarely in my lap and I was going to defend myself and my fellow officers.

I was one of three officers who walked down the hallway of that home that night. I turned the corner, saw the blankets and tried to tear them down as fast as I could. I couldn't get them down on the first try. They eventually came down and all I could see was an arm waving a butcher knife and a heater and other items barricading the entry-way to this bedroom. I backed away as far as I could in the small room which I was in, looked down the sights of my weapon and took out the slack. It sucked. I knew this guy had no idea what was going on. "You're under arrest". "Suffolk Police", "Drop the knife" I said; placing the check marks in the boxes for the pending civil suit which was to come after I shot this man. It sucked. I remember thinking as I saw the glow of my front sight, "Please don't come out. Please don't come out."

There were only two outcomes to the situation which we now found ourselves in. Kill this man, or back out and formulate an alternate plan. Mr. Alvis "Archie" Reed is alive today because the three of us decided to back out and call in the heavy lumber. We backed out, and I stood at the front door of the house until I was ordered to go change uniforms and assume duties as a S.W.A.T. operator; eventually leading to the safe apprehension of Mr. Reed.

Would I have been justified in shooting Mr. Reed that night? That is the question that every Law Enforcement Officer grapples with when the slack is taken out. Fortunatly for me though, I won't have to answer that question quite yet. I am convinced however, that before my career is finished I will be asked that same questrion while sitting in front of twelve of my peers. And I can only hope that they shot at me and missed before I shot back and didn't.

Link to the story and video from WAVY TV 10 : http://www.wavy.com/dpp/news/local_wavy_Suffolk_police_standoff_with_armed_man_20090318

1*

2008-09-17T20:25:00.000-07:00

I have passed the test. I made it. I am SWAT. Two weeks ago, I became a part of the law-enforcement elite. And while I am elated, I am also humbled. Elated as this is a no kidding life-long ambition come to fruition. Humbled, as I understand the enormous amount of responsibility which I have now been given. Any member of a special-ops team will attest that the responsibilities placed upon them are enormous. We are given the training, the tools and the trust to carry out our mission. Let there be no question, we are a life-saving organization, but we are a also a body who is dedicated to the protection of the innocent. And herein lies the ambiguity; a catch 22 of sorts which causes many some heartburn and which makes the membership of such a team reserved for the top 5% of any law enforcement agency.

At any given moment, I could be placed into a position where my individual decision could in one second, totally and irreversibly affect lives. Why? Why would I or any man for that matter, want this amount of responsibility on their shoulders? Why would any man want to be the one to have to make the decision that could forever alter the personal landscape of another man's legacy? Here is my answer and why I chose to be a part of that 5%. Let me preface my answer by saying that no one-sentence blurb can even come remotely close to adequately answering these questions. But here is my reasoning.

When I got out of the Marines, I knew trust. I knew what it meant for one man to place his well-being and in certain circumstances, place his life in my hands. I bore a tremendous amount of responsibility let there be no doubt. I knew however, that he was also bearing the same amount of responsibility because I was placing my life in his hands as well. It was a sort of morbid reciprocity. A quid-pro-quo of the highest magnitude. I knew that if I was placed in a life or death situation, when I zigged, he was going to zag without even a fleeting thought of self-preservation. I knew this because I witnessed it. I experienced it many times over. When you experience this total unselfishness, when you feel the comfort of this trust, you begin to crave it. You begin to seek out people worthy of your selfless sacrifice; people whom you know will return this trust. You seek to associate yourself with them on any level possible in the hopes that your craving will be satiated. I felt this trust, to a certain degree, when I first became a police officer...but I craved more. I craved the same comfort that I had when I was rushing into insurgent enclaves in Iraq with my fellow Marines. That total and all-encompassing trust that I had as we rushed from house to house not knowing what was on the other side. Knowing only that my Marines were with me; and this knowledge was enough. I hungered for it. Then, I began to talk to the members of our department's SWAT team.

These men spoke a language that I understood. There was the bad guy, and then there was the team...a concept with which I was intimately familiar. They spoke of the unknown, the mission and of their faith in the team. They told me how they would turn left without hesitation of what was right because they knew that their brother had it covered. They spoke of the gravity of taking a human life so that the innocent may live. They trained at every opportunity so that when they were called upon, they could accomplish any mission given to them. They were speaking my language and I simply knew that I had to be a part of this team...and now I am.

This is why I do what I do what I do. On a personal level, I also believe that a life lived in mediocrity will be remembered for just that. I believe that a family raised and led to not appreciate sacrifice, will falter when times call for it. I also believe that children who are not only taught, but also witness leadership in their homes will gravitate toward followers later on in life. My life is a living example of a selfless parents and I am determined to provide the same for my children. It is my hope that through my example, my children will understand unwavering trust, giving of themselves for their fellow man when it is deserved and being willing to accept the responsibility of the top 5%.

In Search of Normal

2007-11-15T18:02:00.000-08:00

I was thinking the other day about how long it has been since I've posted - and it has been a while. I began to reminisce about how much this little white square on my screen with its blinking black line used to draw me in and consume my thoughts for hours on end. I began to remember how many times I poured myself out here, hoping for release; praying for a glimpse of understanding as the music resounded in my ears. I remembered how for me, this was a form of therapy - the best form of therapy. And then I began to realize why the passion that I once had for the written word has seemed to fade.

I believe that at one time, possibly beginning during my deployment or recently thereafter, I believe that I was on the verge. As I have previously written, at one time over there I lost my fear of death. I accepted and although I've never said this before, was not distraught at the thought of my body coming home draped in the colors-at times even taking pride at the thought. Depending on the circumstances and missions, you almost had to assume a fearless mindset in order to successfully complete the mission. I liken it to mindset that must have been adopted by the tunnel-rats during the Vietnam conflict. Although I've never read anything from nor have I spoken to a tunnel-rat, I think it's safe to say that before they went headfirst into a tunnel that could possibly be a VC enclave (and they did this often), they had to lose their fear of death. How else could they do it? Every door that those Marines and I busted down over there, could have been our last. I remember early on in my deployment thinking as we rode down MSR Bronze, "Please don't blow up...Please don't blow up." Eventually, I stopped fearing that possibility, and I began to accept it as an eventuality. I had to and others had to as well. We fought to live, and we tried to kill them before they killed us. And each skirmish that we won, took me further and further down the slippery slope of apathy.

After I got out of the Corps and returned home to work at a local police department, I asked my Field Training Officer what he would do if someone came from around that corner and began to shoot at us as we sat in our patrol vehicle. "Well," he said, "if you don't throw this thing in reverse and get us the heck out of here, I'll throw you out and do it myself!" His answer caused me a great deal of concern. It was the right answer, and I knew it was the right answer. It was however, the right answer to someone who was still afraid of dying. It took me well over a year to retrain myself to think this way and fight the mental compulsion to envision myself assaulting through the enemy instead of immediately taking cover and waiting for back up - which most times, is the correct course of action. And when I did, (rehabilitated my mind in a sense), my search for understanding began to wane. I became "normal" again. I no longer felt abnormal. I no longer battled with the conflicting thoughts of life and death, and wondering why, quite honestly, I wasn't afraid to die.

So, while I have never been one to make excuses, I think in this instance at least, my excuse for being noticeably absent in the blogsphere will be that I have realized that I am once again a normal person; very much in love with my life. If this all seems strange, weird and you think that I should be institutionalized, please read some posts from the early days of "America's Son" and maybe this will help you understand and see from where it is that I have progressed.

My oldest daughter just started kindergarten this year, so don't fret. I'm sure that I will soon be thrust once again into a search for understanding...Stay Tuned.

2007-08-29T16:25:00.000-07:00

Jerrod and I lived together for six months in Iraq. So you can imagine when I read the article, "Marine Charged With 225 Counts of Abuse", I felt like someone punched me square in the stomach. I have not spoken to Jerrod since he and I hugged and shook hands at the airport in San Diego when I got back from Iraq in March of last year. Come on the bus with me as we head off to Marine Boot Camp. Please, read the above article first.

We have been driving around in circles for the past three hours. The sun set hours ago the chatter on the bus is lively and spirited. A few of us have high-and-tight's, but as we look around the bus, the majority of guys look like they just left their high-school campus. The bus slows noticeably and turns sharply right. "You all may want to sit down now", the bus driver yells with an ominous smirk on his face. A long stretch of straightaway....the chatter and laughing quiets...silence. We are all looking out the windows into the darkness, into the blackness of the swamp. Dim street lights now line the narrow two lane road. A small shack approaches in the distance. The bus slows as it approaches. Two Marines stand at the edge of the curb. They share a short empty glance with one another before they robotically wave the bus through the gate...

We are strangers in a foreign land. We have all been given a glimpse into a different world...a world where no matter where we came from, there is something greater than us. None of us know it yet, but in thirteen short weeks most of us will have accomplished more than we ever dreamed we could. Many of us will find what we came in search of. For a few, it was a choice made to be "the best". For others, it was the only service which would take them. We are a bus full of selfish individuals who would gladly trample the desires of the fellow sitting next to us in order to further ours. We have no concept Honor, Courage or Commitment. Many of us think we do, but in our lives, pure selflessness, an unwavering sense of duty and an unquestioning devotion to a cause are nonexistent. Soon enough however, we will meet the men who will take this busload of individuals and instill in each one of us these qualities...the qualities which have been trained into thousands of Marines who have stepped on the same yellow footprints where our feet are soon to tread. The means necessary to achieve this end, as every Marine will will attest to, are not pretty and at times, they hurt. The necessity of these means are also difficult to explain.

As I reflected on the purpose of this post, I realized that I will never be able to explain this transformation. It is an anomaly. It is something that is only going to be understood by those of us who have experienced the ultimate test of desire, will and determination. Let me share with you though, something that is going to cause you to shake your head in disbelief, but something that is also going to resonate with every Marine who reads this....I was hit by my Drill Instructors in boot camp. I was cursed at, at times spat upon, ridiculed, berated and at times threatened with bodily harm by these same men. Five short years later, I was being shot at and buildings were being blown up all around me. I was watching men blow themselves up yards away from me. I was hearing that unforgettable zing of rounds flying by my head. I was watching Marines being dragged out of the street after they were struck by the enemies bullets. I was being called upon to immediately and without question place myself in a position where I may give my life for the sake of the cause and my fellow Marines. Jump in a dang trash can? Have someone shove me in it? Hear me here...I prayed that the corner that I was crouching in in that shack in Husaybah would protect me from the car screeching toward us because I was not in a position to take it out and I feared it was going to take me out. I thanked GySgt Bodie for throwing that mattress on me and Bingo right before they blew that weapons cache. Marines follow orders because by following orders, we stay alive. How are we trained to follow orders? By being given strange orders to follow, and being made to follow than immediately without question. "GySgt Bodie, why should I keep this mattress over my head, and why should I jump down into this dugout?" You see what questioning orders can lead to?

Jerrod...thank you. SSgt Lorance, Sgt Casarez, Sgt Simms, thank you. You all did what was necessary to effect a transformation that only we can understand and appreciate. Hold your heads high....I am and will continue to do so because I know those lessons taught to me by the pain you inflicted, kept me and my brothers alive.

The Small Stuff

2007-08-12T05:34:00.000-07:00

I consider Jessie to be a close friend of mine and someone with whom I share a kindred spirit. Jessie and I went through the Police Academy together, we endured Field Training together and we now have the fortune of patrolling neighboring zones within our city. Between the shooting, rape and numerous fights-in-progress calls that we backed each other up on last night, we had the opportunity to discuss some really important issues in our society. Jessie, while he is still very much a young man, has an unusual amount of maturity and an uncanny sense of level-headedness that far surpasses those within his age group. Last night, while he and I were parked "window-to-window" we pondered our society's undoing. I shared with him what I believe to be a major contributing factor. I told Jessie that a fundamental truth that my eight years as a husband, and six years as a father have taught me is that as a husband, don't even think about sweating the small stuff (actual incidents...(A) "Yea, I hit her. She wore my shoes the wrong way, so I punched her." (B) "I said no lettuce. What did I get? Lettuce. She doesn't want to listen to me, so I helped her listen.). As a father however, there is no such thing as small stuff. Every word and every action of my children are crucial to their development. He and I see it almost everyday and it sickens me.

He and I have both been on calls for service where parents are completely and totally at wits end as a result of the actions of their children. It's truly sad because I know, and what I have tried to show Jessie, is that there is a certain point where these kids are gone; the opportunity and privilege of forming and training their precious personalities and lives is lost. Their parents have travelled so far down the slope of parental remission, laziness and selfishness that the only person who can change these children now is the children themselves. In the beginning it was a tantrum at bedtime in defiance that was catered to. "No" was heard by the child as "keep on asking". Later as their poor souls regressed and as the battle continued, these young children stood their ground as seasoned generals while their Dads and Moms retreated; their patience, wits and bodies wracked by the wounds of the workday. Lessons of respect for authority and for adults have been abandoned. "Ma'am" and "Sir" have become archaic jargon lost somewhere-post baby boom.

Let me tell ya' folks, when I was coming up, my sisters and I feared my Dad. Granted, Mom was bad, but only because when you wronged her, you wronged Dad too. My school teacher's pen was the devil's instrument...not because she wielded it, but rather because my Father would eventually read it's damning words. Get in trouble in school or at a friend's house meant you were guaranteed double jeopardy when you got home. I remember whispering in my buddies' ear as they answered my Father's questions; "Say yes sir", because I had been taught from toddlerhood that was the only proper way to answered my Dad. At the time, did I understand the bigger picture that he was teaching me concerning respect for authority? Not hardly. Do my daughter's understand it now? Not hardly. But you know what, just as I understand it now, one day they will too. There is no such thing as small stuff when it comes to my girls. I love them unconditionally, and I make it a point to ensure that they know this. But I also love them enough to teach them right and wrong. As Gov. Mitt Romney stated, ”...there's no work more important than what goes on within the four walls of the American home." My home is no exception.

Living With Our Scars

2007-06-11T15:25:00.000-07:00

There are times when I am reminded of the emotional scars that I bear from Adam's death in Iraq. A post from my dear friend who helped me more than I think she realizes while I was "over there", and who is also helping me cope now with these scars since I returned, reminded me of the hurt that I will forever feel. I wept as I read this letter written by Maj. Doug Zembiec (pictured left) to the children of Maj. Ray J. Mendoza who was killed while fighting in Iraq.

I cried because this letter, while not written to Adam, reminded me of him and his character. It is what any of us would have written about him if we had been asked to. I cried because I would have said the same thing to his children. I cried because I was ashamed that I couldn't weep for Maj. Mendoza without Adam's memory stealing my tears. I cried because that year in Iraq changed me. It changed us all...no matter how strong we were, it changed all of us who where over there. I cried because I knew that if my phone rang right now, I'd willingly leave my family and all that I have and be back over there...Adam would too. And so would our scars.

Let me explain to you a little about Marines. Marines are a group of people who understand the sense of duty unlike any other group of people that I have ever been a part of. There is a very defined and clear pecking order among my brothers let there be no doubt. But when there is a mission to be accomplished, I can offer no words to describe the cohesion and sense of teamwork that you will see amongst a group of Marines...regardless of rank. People have asked me if I miss the Marine Corps. My answer is, "I miss the Marines". I can't say that I miss the Body Corps, but I miss the Marines, the individual Marine, more that you can imagine. Give me ten Marines, and I would amaze you with what we could accomplish. But I digress from my original theme...Forgive me, I just love and miss my Brothers.

Please read this letter slowly and attempt to understand the character of the man about whom it was written. Maj. Mendoza, I salute you Sir. You are a true leader of Marines and one whom Adam and I would have been proud to serve with. When I think about all that is good in our society...when I think about who it is that I would want paddling next to me against the tide of evil, Maj. Mendoza Sir, I would have you. Semper Fidelis.

"Dear Kiana and Alek,

Ray and I had a conversation late May in 2004 while we were deployed to Iraq. He spoke of why he fought. He fought to give the people of Iraq a chance. He fought to crush those who would terrorize and enslave others. He fought to protect his fellow Marines. The last thing he told me that day was, "I don't want any of these people (terrorists) telling my kids how to act, or how to dress. I don't want to worry about the safety of my children." Kiana and Alek, your father fought for many things, but always remember, he fought for you. As you fight this battle we call life, you will find your challenges greater, your adversity larger, your enemies more numerous. The beautiful thing is, you will grow stronger, smarter, faster, and you will overcome the obstacles in your way. No one could've better prepared you than your father. In the month and a half your family stayed with me in Laguna Niguel, Calif., while waiting for base housing to open up, I saw how, with the help of your incredible mother, he instilled in you the essentials to life:

Live with integrity, for without integrity we deceive ourselves, we live in a house of cards.
Fight for what you believe, for without valor, we lose our freedom. Be willing to sacrifice, for anything worthy in life requires sacrifice. Be disciplined, for it is discipline that builds the foundation of your success. You will encounter misguided people in your life who may question America's attempt to help the people of Iraq and the Middle East. These pathetic windbags, who have nothing so sacred in their lives that they would be willing to fight for it, will argue and debate endlessly on what we should've done. While they criticize, they forget the truth, or conveniently overlook the fact that it takes men and women of action, willing to make a sacrifice, to free the enslaved, to advance the cause of freedom.

Our great nation was built on the shoulders of men like your father. While the nay-sayers and cowards hid in the shadows sniveling that nothing was worth dying for, men like your dad carved our liberty away from the English, freed the slaves and kept the Union together, saved Europe from the Germans twice; rescued the Pacific away from the Japanese, defeated communism, and right now, fight terrorism and plant the seeds of democracy in the Middle East. Your father was a warrior, but being a warrior is not always about fighting. He was patient with those he led, and he understood people make mistakes. He cared about the men he led as if they were his own family. To him, they were. His work ethic was tremendous. But he made time for his family, to enjoy life. He was balanced, at equilibrium. He was an inspiration. He was my friend.

In your future, when you are pushed against a wall, in a tight spot, outnumbered and seemingly overwhelmed, it may be tempting to give up, or even use the absence of your father as a crutch, as an excuse for failure. Don't. Your father's passing, while tragic, serves as an endless source of your empowerment. Your father would not want you to wallow in self-pity. I know you will honor him by living your life in the positive example he set. Respect and remember him. Drive on with your lives. Serve something greater than yourself. Enjoy all the good things that life has to offer. That is what he would want.

Kiana! I have never met a more capable young lady in my life. You are the most well-read, articulate, disciplined young person I know. Often I tell people of the arm-bar you demonstrated on me in your parents' garage. When you become a worldwide Judo champion, I will say with great pride, "that woman nearly torqued my shoulder out when she was 11 years old!" If my daughter grows up with a quarter of the strength of your principles, determination and intelligence, she will be an incredible human being. Like your mother, you are a beautiful woman, a fact of which you should be proud.

Alek! You are blessed with your father's strength of character and his unbreakable will and his broad shoulders. Your mother gave you her determination and unwavering mental toughness. Your mother told me the story of you hanging up the sign, "Be a leader, not a follower." My eyes well up every time that I think of you doing that. My eyes fill not with tears of sadness, but of pride, to know you grasped the mindset your father passed on to you. This mindset will allow you to be a leader and protector like your father, and one day, to raise an upright, solid-as-a-rock family of your own. When I look in your eyes, I see your father. Courageous, determined and resolute, your father embodied all that is virtuous in a warrior. Even now, you strive to embody his same character. Remember, there will never be any pressure for you to be exactly like your father. Be your own man, but build your character in his image. Many people may be concerned about your future because of the early passing of your father. I don't worry at all. Your dad gave you all you ever need to become a great woman and a great man. I know your father would have told you to be your own hero/heroine. Don't wait for someone to rise up and lead you to victory, to your goals. If you do, you might wait for a very long time. Ray died as a warrior, sword in hand, in service of his country, his comrades and you, his loved ones. His spirit and example give us all hope, reaffirms our faith. Your father reminds us there are men willing to fight for people that they don't even know so that all may live in peace. I joined the Corps to serve beside men like your father. There is no other Marine I'd rather have protecting my flank in combat than your dad. Even now, as I write this letter in Iraq, I will honor him on the field of battle by slaying as many of our enemies as possible, and fight until our mission is accomplished.

You will always be in our lives. Please stay in touch. We will always be in your corner for assistance, advice or just conversation. Pam and I plan to retire in Idaho and would love for you to visit us so we can take you white-water rafting and mountain climbing.

Very Respectfully,
Doug"

Stemming the Tide

2007-06-01T18:45:00.001-07:00

"We're going down folks. I'm afraid that all we can do at this point, barring a moral awakening the likes of which has never before been seen, is slow our descent." A pretty depressing statement; I know, I made it. This is a quote from my previous post and one which has caused me some restless evenings of late, and here's why. If what I have stated is correct...if our society is slipping further and further down this slope slouching ever closer toward Gomorrah, then am I not, are we who wear badges and carry guns, not fighting an ultimately winless battle? Flood the streets of any city in this nation with cops and you know what you will have? A crime-riddled city with a lot of cops is what you will have. So why in the world should we try? Why should we try and win this fight against evil? Why should I take an interest in a community which seems to be destined to be plagued with crime regardless of what I do? Why should I concern myself with taking a crack-pipe-toting addict to jail when there are 30 more waiting to take his place? Why waste my time with the street-level narcotics dealer, when he will probably be let out on bond and keep dealing his death of choice? Why should I let that five minutes that I have just spent explaining to the drunkard how I don't want to see him get ran over as he falls flat on his face in the middle of the street...why should this bother me when in a matter of time, some of them will continue their destructive lifestyles? All very good questions and quite honestly, tough questions. I honestly hope that I am not biting off more than I can chew here (I probably am), but I must get this out of my mind and those of you who know why I write will appreciate this fact. Please listen very closely to what I am about to say.

It is my belief that human nature is evil. It is also my belief that mankind is by our very nature, self-serving, hedonistic, vengeful creatures and that if left to our own heeding, we would have long since destroyed ourselves and this ball that we call home. I don't believe that there is a single person, who if left to his/her vices, would be deserving of their next breath. Now, before the masses call for my lynching, allow me to expound. Are there some people who are less evil than others? Think of it this way...If you could see into my heart and my mind since the day I was born, you would agree that I have not always been a "good" person. But am I, or have I ever been as evil as Saddam Hussein? Never. But why? Why are some of us "less-evil" than others? Why are there some who would not choose to give in to this nature that we all have?

I believe with all my heart that it is because I was nurtured. I was taught by loving parents what is right and what is wrong. Every day this is what I see...I see a generation of kids who are growing up lacking the nurturing necessary to fight their nature and do what is right. I see parents who are not fit to be members of a free society - much less mothers and fathers. I see these parent's children detesting law, discipline, self-respect and any semblance of order. And this, this is what is nurtured. This is what is nurtured by their parents, this is what is nurtured by our media and this is what is nurtured by you and I when we do nothing to stem the tide. And that my friends, that is what I believe will be our society's undoing. When we as a society stop caring for these kids who cannot care for themselves.

The drunkard, the crack dealer, the career criminal...most of them are lost causes. But I will take as many of them to jail as I possibly can because parents are allowing them to raise their children. And as I see it, every miscreant that I tote off to jail, at least for a time, will be one less to spread their evil on to the next generation. And it is just that...a generational battle.

We have three different groups of people in our society, to piggyback off Chuck Holton's theory whom I give total credit for this idea...There are those who have already given up. They have asked themselves those same questions that I asked earlier, and after scratching their head, they came to the conclusion that all is already lost and they choose to prey off as many as they can before they reach their demise. There are those who will lock their doors at night and do nothing, and then there are those will fight tooth-and-nail to not only fight for themselves and their families, but also for those who are being preyed upon.

In the end, this is what we have to ask ourselves...Do we wave the white flag and blow the whistle in the hopes of being picked up by the rescue party while our own families and the whole of our society go down, do we stick our heads in the sand and pretend that all is well, or do we fight to keep us afloat for as long as we can? I know what my parents did, and I plan to do the same...not only for my families sake, but for yours as well.

Our Society's Undoing

2007-05-21T13:56:00.000-07:00

I've experienced quite a bit in my short life; much more than most men my age. I've lifted the veil of the most amazing lady that I've ever known. I've held her hand as we heard the first breaths taken by our daughters. I've taken a life in battle and I've seen the eyes of those who would try and take mine. I've been shot at, cursed at, spat upon and called the most vile filth that you could imagine...most of this from those whom I serve and who I have placed my life in jeopardy to protect. Why in the world do I subject myself to this sort of lifestyle? I'm college-educated, highly-experienced and I could be successful in so many other professional careers. So why in the world, every day that I go to work, do I follow my badge into the some of the most dangerous and vile environments that I've seen since Iraq?

DISCLAIMER: It is at this moment that I will lose some of you. If you're not a parent, a husband or a wife 100% devoted to your spouse or your family, this concept will be incomprehensible to you. And if you're not a parent, a husband or a wife, do me a favor...print this page out and put it in the box to be opened on your tenth wedding anniversary, or on your child's fifth birthday. For I assure you, it will be then that you will understand what I am going to attempt to explain.

I take pride in the scourges that my profession offers. I do, because by exposing myself to the morally devoid among us, I place myself in a position to make a difference in the world to be inherited by my daughters and their daughters. I see it this way...I and my kind are at the rear of the canoe feverishly rowing toward civility, an ethical lifestyle and moral responsibility. In the front of the canoe, paddling in the opposite direction just as feverishly as we are, are the morally bankrupt, the selfish and the vermin. I look behind me and I see my family standing on an island between us, and the end. This filth that I am battling with are winning. They are taking us and their self-destructive lifestyles closer and closer to the island where my babies stand. And although I may not be winning, as we come closer and closer to the shore, my family sees me fighting for them.

This I know:
I know the more I fight, the less they will have to.
I know the longer that I can prolong our society's immanent moral implosion, the longer my family will be able to enjoy the peace and comfort that a honest lifestyle and a loving household has to offer.
I know the more they hurl their filth at me, the less will be spoken to my family. I know the more they spit on me, the less will land on my family.
I know the longer that I can keep this canoe in the middle, the longer my family will have to grow and live a peaceful life.

I lay my head on my pillow knowing that while there may not be a solution, I do know that I am not a part of the problem. This is why I do what I do. I am the cork in the hull of the Titanic.

We're going down folks. I'm afraid that all we can do at this point, barring a moral awakening the likes of which has never before been seen, is slow our descent. Our society has set itself on a path of self-destruction. I don't know when, but I know it's going to happen. We would be kidding ourselves to say that we are a better society than that of generations past. We are killing ourselves and I fear that all I and my kind are doing is pushing the morphine to numb the pain and make our last moments less painful.

I wish it were not true. For my families sake...I wish it were not. But alas, I fear it is.

Guarding the Flock

2007-04-25T17:25:00.000-07:00

I've always liked Dennis Miller. He has a no-nonsense, no-holds barred quick-wittedness about him which has always impressed me. His latest interview with Bill O'reilly, aptly named "Miller Time", once again reminded me why Dennis has me among his fan base. Mr. Miller was asked to comment on the recent tragedy at Virginia Tech. Interestingly enough, Mr. Miller, quite possibly unbeknowst to him, described an unlikely sheepdog amongst some of those kids there in Blacksburg. I've included a brief excerpt from his commentary:

Miller: "I'm intrigued by this character, Lebvew Lebresku, the seventy-six year old aerodynamics instructor at the college. Now listen, I think in our society we have somehow in current-day America, been denuded out of the gene that makes us want to survive at all costs. I think that Lebresku, a 76 year old holocaust survivor, who if you do the math was probably 12 when he first saw the face of evil, I'm sure looked up at that narrow window in that door and saw the same sick glint, that dead-shark thing in that eye that he had seen as a young man and he went towards it to stop it. I think that right now kids in this culture, between video games which kind of dumb them down vis-a-vis violence, and the non-judgemental aspect of this society don't know evil if it springs up at a door in their college."

In other words, what I think Mr. Miller is saying is that our society has become a breeding ground for sheep. We seem to have lost our ability to bring up a generation of sheepdogs and are reaping the fruits of what my parent's generation has sown and what my generation continues to prune. Our society's sense of normalcy, as it relates to violence, has taken a dramatic shift. I remember when I was growing up, shrieking when Frogger didn't quite make it across the road. Now, some of the video games that I have seen and played rival the carnage on the streets of Iraq. What do we expect? Folks, I believe that we are sleeping in the bed that we have made for ourselves. Could that demon-possessed rampage have been caused by something earlier in his childhood or teenage years? Possibly. Are there those who are being steered in that same direction by our culture's paradigm shift? You better believe it. I see it everyday.

Rest assured though...I, and many of my brothers-in-blue have not been "denuded" out of our instinct for survival. We have seen death and we have looked into the eyes of men who have wished death upon us. And now, like then, we yearn for the opportunity to stare into the face of that brand of evil visited on the campus of Virginia Tech and defend our lives and the lives of those sheep around us. We truly yearn for the day.

Mr. Miller continued, "I think the only thing we share at this point, is sorta looking around and saying, 'What in the hell is happening to this world?', and everybody seeks out whatever belief that they have. One of the things that falls away from me in the wake of a tragedy like this, is all the sterm and drang, all the usual suspects, all that crap that I pretend that I am interested in on a day to day basis goes away and I shoot hoops with my kids and I don't hear it as much."

In the Sheepdog's Absence

2007-04-18T12:58:00.000-07:00

Here we are again. The unthinkable becoming reality. Seared in our minds this time are not horrific scenes of towers falling, but rather of bloodied bodies being dragged and carried from their dormitories. It frustrates me to know that my enemies have won again. I fight evil, and evil has once again prevailed. I came home on the day of the massacre and listened to my wife tell me of newly released details that she had seen on the television. 21 dead, 30 dead. 32 dead. When were the numbers going to stop? I began to feel the anger welling inside my soul. I didn't want to hear anymore. I am still angry and I feel that at least for the time, ignorance will be my greatest ally.

I will grieve for the men and women who were slaughtered. I will grieve for their families and the loss of what they have loved for a lifetime. I will grieve when the anger recedes. Right now, I am just avoiding the television, the newspapers...any accounts of it. It sickens me to hear about the school, the procedure(s) that were or were not followed, of how no one acted to defend against this lone assailant {a' la flight 93}, of the beauty of hindsight. I avoid the frothing mouths craving ratings and dollars. Newspapers, radio, television stations can you please offer me an explanation? Why didn't we see or hear your pious clamoring deriding the administration of this school before this incident? Why weren't you critical of the college's policy of securing the campus during crisis before there was a crisis? You know why? Because the media as we know it today are a reactive group of people who at every chance, seek to prey on the basest ingredient of the human nature. I avoid these empty words printed to criticize and berate. I avoid the mouth in the suit telling me that more should have been done. And do you know why I avoid it? BECAUSE IT DOES NOTHING TO HELP! It waits for disaster and then dumps criticism on those involved. It waits for tragedy and then points its fat, overfed finger. I don't care that the masses think that the school could have done more to stop the murders. Where was this criticism before this happened? You know where it was? It was nonexistent because it was not necessary. Do we honestly think that these institutions of higher learning are not doing everything in their power to protect our children? Think of it this way, oh you naysayers...give me your answer as to what you feel the school could have done to avoid this tragedy. Oh you gazer of the crystal ball...do proffer your all-knowing answer. Give it to me, and I will give you a single variable...one unforeseen ingredient that will totally shatter your equation of perfection. And do you know why this is? Because there are, and always be, things that happen outside of our control and this possessed man was the variable this time.

However, this, this friends is what I do care about. I care about the fathers and mothers who will never see their children again. I care about the lovers who will never have the opportunity to vow their devotion to one another. I care about the mothers who had their flowers ripped from their hands; the fathers who's legacies died with their sons. This is what matters. Why can't we realize this? Things happen that we cannot control. People have killed and will continue to kill and there is absolutely nothing that we can do to totally eliminate some people's lust for death.

I was asked by a gentleman the other day how I felt about the events, and I answered, "I wish I would have been in that dorm five minutes before that demon walked in." "And what is it that you think you could have done young man?", he replied. "I could have made a difference." Maybe my absence was the variable.

In Defense of the Defenseless

2007-03-10T17:40:00.000-08:00

As I was driving through the ghetto the other day, I realized an interesting parallel to my job and our nation's involvement in Iraq. First, let me see if I can put you next to me in the police car as I was driving through this neighborhood. It is by no means a South-Central, LA or a Brooklyn, NY...but here in Suffolk, it is as bad as it gets and can prove just as lethal. So first here we are rounding the curve leading into the neighborhood. There are many people standing on the side of the street who immediately pull out their cell phones and talk; presumably look-outs for the dope slingers...at least you hope they're just look-outs and not a foreboding of something more sinister. As we continue our slow roll, small groups of people seemingly come from nowhere. You quickly scan to determine any immediate suspicious activity (read "threatening activity") and we make our first turn which leads us in front of a row of people which reminds you of a receiving line at a wedding reception; but no handshakes or wishes of happiness and health will be offered here. We see nothing but blank stares on every face, but the hatred and detestment are palpable. The faces which you see say nothing, but the eyes speak volumes. We have just become a parasite; a virus which threatens to harm this semblance of a body.

My training is screaming in my head..."HANDS!", but I can see none. They are all buried down the front of pants or tucked under shirts. Yet much to your amazement, I drive on...slowly. Why? Because it is my duty and the duty of those like me. Because regardless of my personal fears, it is what I have sworn to do. Do the bulk of these people want me in their neighborhood? Absolutely not! Do the bulk of them respect the rule of law or the laws of human decency? Don't fool yourself. But regardless of what this facade appears to show, this is where we are needed the most. The civility of these communities demand it. Because without our presence and what we represent, eventually they would not have the luxury of standing on this street corner detesting our very existence.

And here is the parallel that I alluded to earlier-and please hear me out here...I willingly go where I am not wanted and to some extent hated because it is the RIGHT thing to do. We are in Iraq because it is the right thing to do. Argue oil and politics till the cows come home, but when the smoke clears and at the end of the day when we are staring at pictures of mass murder perpetuated at the hands of one man, tell me that as civil human beings and as a nation who has the means to do so, that we should not have defended the defenseless. Forget for a moment if you will national or ethnic differences...we are defending our fellow man because it is the right thing to do. Whether or not we should still be in Iraq is a separate issue which I will reserve for later chapters, but our presence in Iraq to defend human lives, in my opinion, cannot be argued. The right for human beings to live...to breath air...how can anyone argue that this should NOT be defended? "Well, their culture is such that a heavy-handed style of justice is all that they understand." Don't buy into this canned, cop-out of an excuse perpetuated by the main-stream media. It is not justice...it is murder. It is the treating of human life as if were as meaningful as a farm animal, and it is wrong. It is also wrong and un-American not to defend the lives of the defenseless regardless of what Continent they live on.

The current nuclear arms debacle screams of our worlds desire to revert to a "survival of the fittest" mentality; a "He with the most bombs wins" attitude. Our neighborhoods are but a microcosm of this. So should America become an island unto itself and hold up a sign which reads "Bring it on!" as we post out entire military might on our borders because we fear what "meddling" in the affairs of another country's government might lead to? Listen, we are not defending a nation...we are not defending a government. What our country is fighting for globally, and what I have fought for for over a year of my life in the desert of Iraq, is for human beings to be able to simply live and be secure in their lives.

The bottom line is this...I, my profession and my country stand for the rule of civility and the right of every human being to live secure in their birthright of life. These rights know no culture, no style of government and no geographic boundary. I will not only defend the lives of the helpless because it is my oath of office, but more importantly I will defend them because it is my duty as an American and as a fellow human being. This fact cannot be argued.

It's Still Raining

2007-02-21T20:09:00.000-08:00

There comes a point when you stop trying to recover and you learn to manage. I've come to understand and accept that some things, no matter how much I internalize, no matter how much I ruminate, some things will never be the same; and I will never be able to make them as they once were. The irony is that amidst all the confusion, muddled somewhere in my never-ending questions and attempts to recover, I've seen glimpses of truth. And the truth that I've seen is this...what we know as our "lives", what we know as "family", these can all change with the next breath of air that enters our bodies. You've undoubtedly heard this before, you've may have even said it before. But let me tell you something, until you've looked inside of yourself and greeted this day as your last because you were certain it would be; until you've said goodbye to your family in your mind because your mind is the only way you can communicate with them, and until you've done this more times than you can remember, you truly don't understand the frailty of a life.

The double tragedy in all of this for me, is that not only have I been forced to swallow this bitter pill of death, I have emerged alive and now see those around me whose lives have yet to teach them this lesson. They do not fully understand that death is a breath away. Sure, they've said it and heard it hundreds of times....but they have never LIVED it. And unfortunately until they do, death will be foreign to them. It will always be something that happens to others. To them, there will always be a tomorrow because they have never been forced to live with a yesterday. And while there is a beauty and innocence to never having been forced to live with a yesterday, there is also a hindrance to it. The problem with never having to live with a yesterday, is that you've never learned the lessons that yesterday has to offer. You never truly understand how to appreciate today. For you see, there is no greater teacher about today, than yesterday. There is no greater teacher about life, than death. And for me, death has taught me that I will always say I'm sorry to a face before I am forced to say it to a tombstone. Death has taught me that while life's concerns and issues seem insurmountable at times, I still have my life; I still have the life of my family and this truth is what really matters.

It's still raining...it is indeed and the thunder continues to roll in my mind. But amidst the thunder and the rain, I find solace in the knowledge that whatever storm I find myself in, at least I have been given a today. I have a here and now. And it is in this here and now that I will thank God for just that. Thank You for another chance to tell my wife how much she means to me. Thank you for another kiss from my daughters. Thank you for the opportunity to be able to say I'm sorry for a wrong that I've committed or accept an apology for one committed against me. Because who knows, I may never have the opportunity to accept another I'm sorry and the next one I say may very well be to a tombstone.

I'm At a Loss

2007-01-10T18:22:00.000-08:00

If you would have asked me two months ago what I thought the most important personality trait was to be an effective police officer, I probably would have told you the ability to understand; to understand people, problems and understand how to resolve conflict. But recently since I've been on the street, I've been beating my head against the wall because I don't UNDERSTAND! I don't understand how a large part of our society will glamorize the basest elements of our culture, and then expect anything other than anarchy and unrest. Since when has it become a bragging point that you have been signed by "Ex-Con" records? (Unfortunatly, I am not making this up). Video games promote a lifestyle that if you were to emulate their characters in real life (which many do), you would be pushing up dasies faster than you can say "Snoop-Dog". But it's the lifestyle that I cannot comprehend. You put nothing but garbage in, and expect a rose garden to blossom. Your house gets shot up and you can't seem to understand why. I don't know...could it possibly be because your angel of a son is dealing crack from your house and owes his boy down the block some money? No? Well, maybe it's because he's gotten himself in the middle of a turf war with the dudes from across town? Of course you have no idea how it came to this. I mean, look at the wonderful example that you've set for him. Father? What is that? Work ethic? Sure you work...so you can buy your liquor and crack. Discipline? He gets a time-out...some time out of the house where he furthers his criminal enterprise which leads to your house getting blasted by gunfire. I'm not the crispiest fry in the happy meal, but I see a pattern forming here.

I've been told by many seasoned police officers that this is a mental battle that I would be best to not fight. But I cannot help it. I have to understand. I feel useless to help if I cannot understand. They tell me, "Tim, you'll run yourself stone-cold crazy trying to understand why it is that we have jobs." But shouldn't it be easy to understand how the sounds of gunfire in your backyard should be considered abnormal? If you can't walk down the street without expecting to get "capped" (I had a guy tell me this just the other day), is it such a hard thing to realize that a lifestyle change is in order? I suppose my lifestyle seems just as abnormal to them as theirs does to me but at least I know with a fair degree of certainty that my house is not going to be riddled with bullet holes and I am not going to get "capped" walking down the street.

It's not hard to pinpoint the cause...it's really just a lack of leadership in the home. But what I can't fathom is why a parent would not have the courage to fight and not subject their children to this lifestyle, and also why a young adult would not become a transitional person and turn their back on a lifestyle that perpetuates violence, ignorance, and their ultimate demise.

I'm sorry Fred, I just can't let it go. I may never understand it, but I have to try.

"I Just Came Back From War"

2007-01-09T14:39:00.000-08:00

I saw this video and heard this song the other day and I broke down. If you want to know what our heroes are eperiencing not only in the theater of operations, but upon their homecoming as well, watch this video. I don't think that I've heard the feelings of a warrior upon his homecoming better expressed. For those of you who have been follwing my blog, first let me apologize for your agony, and second I want you to watch this video and then read an excerpt of one of my entries that I wrote after I returned. After you do, I think you will understand how close to home this song hit. It is called "I Just Came Back From War", and it can be viewed here.

"We are warriors and have a warrior’s bond which no nine-to-five could ever begin to offer. I will miss the life of a warrior. To be able to place my life in the hands of another, and have his place his in mine. To fight side by side; our only fear being that we may see one of our own fall. We all have seen one of us fall, and none of will ever feel the same.We, in our own ways, are all scared. Husbands and fathers are afraid of being strangers to their wives and children. The single Marines are afraid of returning to an atmosphere of normalcy and relative serenity. We are all different men than we were six months ago. The thought of adaptation has become a collective, unspoken sore spot. The return will undoubtedly be easier for some than it will be for others but one thing is certain; we all long to return despite our fears. We all long for the lives that we left. Personally, I am apprehensive of the changes that my family has underwent since I left. My daughters know “Daddy” as a name and a voice that lives in the cell phone. My wife remembers me the way I used to be before war took a hold of so much of my mind. Yes, it’s ominous, but I long for it so much; we all do. I am still very much compressed. Crowds make me extremely uncomfortable. Eccentric colors give me a headache. Driving down the street is a completely different experience that it has been for the past thirteen years. I am sure that this will all wear off in the near future, but until it does, it will be an interesting time. I have found that I prefer to either be alone, or with the other Marines. People just seem to annoy me since I returned. Of course California being the most rude and intrusive state that I have ever visited (sorry Californians) doesn’t help matters any. I have had to literally ignore a few people simply because I wanted to yank them up.I've left one dream and entered another. It's hard to concieve how the life that I've lived for twenty-nine years could now seem abnormal. It's so different; I almost feel out of place, yet it feels so good to be that much closer to home. It feels akward writing in a barracks room as opposed to a bombed out building. It will defintely take some time. I've begun to notice how much my time in Iraq has affected me. I find myself still scanning roadsides, finding a corner in a crowded area and staring at people a bit more than I should. And as I expected, I can't bring myself to watch the news and see the Marines, my brothers, still fighting over there. I am just taking it all in right now and hoping that the sense of normalcy returns soon."

2006-12-18T17:38:00.000-08:00

Well, friends...I've made it to the next chapter. I just completed my first week on the street with my Field Training Officer (FTO). I've already seen some very disturbing things and for those of you who know me, you know that one thing is certain; that's right...I've been doing a lot of thinking. I was recently asked by a good friend of mine what I thought would be the most difficult aspect of transitioning from military law enforcement to the civilian side. Although I answered his question, I probably should have given more thought to it before I did because I think I may have found the right answer this week.

I went to a call this week involving two adult females. It was the morning after, and we went to one of the ladies homes to serve a warrant for the previous night's going-on's. We were invited into the lady's home (it was a low-risk warrant) and her young child was sitting on the couch playing a video game. For those of you not savvy to the current video game scene, Grand Theft-Auto is a very popular (read dangerous) video game involving a gangster who runs the street robbing, shooting and beating up anyone who crosses his path thereby giving the game its title. The language contained in this video game for those of you who are not familiar, is a very stout R rating.

To be honest, at first it really didn't catch my attention...A child playing a video game. And then it happened...My FTO was explaining the arrest warrant to the lady when I heard "Give me the F-ing ride!" come from the television. "Woah", I thought..."What is this all about". I don't know if it was my expression or my quick glance to the rear that caught the arestee's attention, but she obviously noticed my bewilderment. "Oh, it's alright...", she said. "I let them watch and play whatever they want. Some kids have no idea what goes on in the world...but not mine. I want them to be prepared when they get out there." Now at this point in the encounter, I had to remind myself to remain somewhat focused on the business at hand and not let this lady's comment distract me to the point where I lose my clarity of thought or focus...because truth be told, I wanted to say, "Excuse me? That was the punch line to a bad joke right?" But nope...no joke here.

Right then, I began to sense that I was being introduced to something...a lifestyle, a thought process, an apathy that was going to prove to be very difficult for me to accept. I believe that it's a parent's responsibility to protect and defend a child's innocence. To me, one of the most precious attributes about my daughters is their naivety. They have no concept of murder, thievery, extortion...all the things that this video game was brainwashing this young man to consider as the norm of our society. Isn't this one of the most crucial responsibilities that we as parent's have? To protect the innocence of our children and to shield and protect them from the evils of our world?

Society's parents as a whole, are failing their children. This household I fear, is a microcosm of the bulk of our society. In a great many cases, our last line of defense has been compromised and in this case at least, the enemy has entrenched his forces on what was once our turf. And for me, here's the rub. I must force myself to approach every situation as a black and white case. Either a law was broken or it wasn't. It's not my place to give advice on parenting. It's not my place to offer opinion on parenting. It's not my place to pass judgement on what I believe to be value-delinquent parents. My job is to enforce the laws of the Commonwealth and to protect her citizens. And as bad as I wanted to tell this lady that she missed the bus, I had to bite my tongue.

There are those who are beyond recovery. It's too late to save some and I can accept this. But our children? This blank pallet that we have been blessed with the opportunity to paint? We hand this over to others to paint for us? To me, this is nothing short of cowardice. We are waving the white flag and the enemy is eagerly licking his chops, waiting for the opportunity to claim another victory...to sign his name to what was intended to be our masterpiece. I am not only be the defender of my children's lives, but also the defender of their minds; and I've got news for you...my flag is planted and I will not lose.

"Chesapeake...54?"

2006-11-29T18:03:00.000-08:00

"Chesapeake 54...Chesapeake 54...Chesapeake 54...10-4, Chesapeake 54, 10-7. Ending tour of duty. Rest in peace Trooper Hill".

I heard the dispatcher's voice echo off the tall pines there in that cemetery. My hand shook as I saluted a man whom I'd never met, yet whom I respected more than most. I began to cry. Trooper Hill did not die in a hail of gunfire in the midst of a shootout. He was not serving a high-risk warrant when he died. No, Trooper Hill was killed while issuing a motorist a traffic summons for a motor vehicle infraction.

Let me say that I believe there are some things in life that we are not suppose to understand. Trooper Hill's funeral reminded me of something that I cannot even begin to fathom. Bear with me as this may very well turn out to be something A) very difficult to clearly explain, and B) better left unsaid. But I wondered as I stood there saluting this hero, was he afraid of death? While I was in Iraq, I came to terms with (in my mind) the reality that I was not going to come home. I lost my fear of death. I was shot at more times than I can remember. I still hear the rounds cracking off the mortar blocks above my head. I left houses moments before they were leveled. I had suicide bombers drive vehicles within a stones-throw from me and disappear in a ball of flames. I saw Humvees ahead of me in a convoy rise three stories in the air after they drove over pressure plates connected to 155mm explosive rounds. I lost friends who were standing where I was suppose to be but wasn't as the result of a literal flip of a coin. I stopped looking down at the ground as I walked down the streets on missions. I simply could not function with a fear of dying. So I lost it. It was the only way to function. It was the only way I could accomplish my mission. I embraced the fact that my wife and family were going to see me in a flag-draped casket.

And standing there in that field surrounded by tombstones, I wondered if Trooper Hill accepted the reality that his job was going to take his life? Did he look down when he walked? Was route 58 his Al Anbar Province? And while the timing will catch us all by surprise, was Trooper Hill ready to die? I am surrounded everyday, by people who would as soon shoot me as they would wave at me. Why? Because I am the sheepdog and they are the wolves; I defend those who cannot at times, defend themselves. Do I want to die? Of course not. I want to see my two daughters grow up and marry some ratbags who are not even close to being worthy of them. But whether you can understand it or not, while I do not want to, I have absolutely no fear of dying. How could I do my job if I feared dying? How could I storm a school full of armed subjects in an attempt to rescue your child if I was afraid of dying? How could I confront the drug dealer on your street corner if I was afraid of dying? How could I run into the burning house to snatch your family out in the middle of the night if I were afraid of dying? I couldn't, and therefore could not uphold the oath that I swore to. While I do not claim to be half the man that Trooper Hill was, I believe that he and I probably had some things in common. Our lives, by virtue of our badge, become secondary to the safety of the citizens whom we serve.

So the next time you see a Police Officer, please take a moment and understand that more than likely, you are looking at a man/woman who probably doesn't know you, but would at the drop of a hat, risk his/her life to defend yours. Trooper Hill did, and I would too.

Linked @ Righty In a Lefty State

Who's To Blame?

2006-11-22T19:01:00.000-08:00

An unfortunate yet understandable ingredient in my line of work, is having to deal with some of the sickest individuals in our society. I attended a training seminar this afternoon whose topic was sex crimes and the role that law enforcement officers play in the successful prosecution of these miscreants. Sidebar - I have seen some of the most disgusting and heinous scenes imaginable, yet what I saw and heard testified to today caused my stomach to turn. On the ride home, a co-worker and I had an engaging conversation on...Why? What is it that causes sexual predators and molesters to do what they do? And should we really buy into many of their absurd defenses; namely that they simply cannot control their "urges" and that genetics are really to blame? Admittedly, there are people "smarter" than I who have stated clinical opinions on the issue, and I do not purport to have any clinical evidence on which to base my opinion. But I believe that a look at the basic components of human nature will offer us some enlightning insight into that nagging and seemingly unanswerable question...Why? Here is my $.02.

I believe that our very nature seeks to avoid being wrong and when we are indeed proven wrong and have no "out", our nature takes the next step and looks for a scapegoat; something, someone or somewhere that we can drop blame so as to avoid being accountable for our misdeeds. Let's look at this...

Scenario#1:
A child molester is placed on trial for numerous acts of sexual molestation. His defense? A genetic imbalance prohibited him from understanding the wrong in sodomizing young children; a defense he vigorously maintained until the prosecution discovers videotapes made by the defendant while committing these despicable acts. An immediate recess was pleaded to by the defense and a change of pleas was not far behind. Far-fetched? Not hardly. This is a true story.

Obviously, those videos completely changed the course of that trial, but why? Here's why...there is no explanation, there is no rationalizing, there is no genetic imbalance that could excuse the actions of this man. It was not a genetic imbalance and when all the cards were laid out and no other scapegoats remained, the only other explanation to offer was the one that the defendant knew all along..."I was wrong and should not have done what I did. How can I avoid as much punishment for my wrongdoing as possible?"

If I, a somewhat reasonable human being, do something and I believe that it was an acceptable act, should I fear a video of me committing this percieved "acceptable" act? Of course not.
The alcoholic, the child molestor, the rapist...in my opinion, none of these people were "born that way". Somewhere in their lives, they zigged when they should have zagged and as a result, they are the way they are. What better way to avoid personal accountability that to blame wrongdoing on something so totally out of our control as genetic makeup?

On Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs

2006-11-21T14:55:00.000-08:00

I trust that I am not the only one who has at one time or another, had difficulty expressing themselves. It's very strange...I understand perfectly what it is that I am trying to say, but for some reason, my thoughts get lost in my words. Lost in specech. Thought + Spoken Word = Garble. I don't understand it. "I know what I am trying to say. Why can't you understand?" I often find myself bumbling around my words trying to give my thoughts an avenue of escape. More times than not however, I give up and my potential flashes of brilliance are left to bounce around in the inner vacuum of my head. I'm left banging my head against the wall wondering why it't so hard for me. I'd love nothing more than to share, to discuss, to disagree, to deabte. But sometimes, it just doesn't come. And it's frustrating.

Being the rational human being that I am, I have sought an explanation for my quandry and here it is: So as to preserve my own sanity, I've resigned myself to the belief that God has given me some thoughts, some insights, some epiphinies that He meant especially for me and no one else. That's it...that simple. God has thought enough of me to give these special thoughts to me and has said, "Enjoy. When I'm ready for you to share, I'll give your words meaning." So how do I know when it's time to share? I have a "That's what I meant to say" moment. You know those times when you come across something that is so poignant, so true-to-life, so "that's what I meant to say"? Well, I had one today, and although it's a lengthy piece, please...please, if you are going to read it, read it in its entirety. If you don't have enough time right now, come back later.

On Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs
By LTC(RET) Dave Grossman, RANGER,Ph.D.

One Vietnam veteran, an old retired colonel, once said this to me: “Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident.” This is true. Remember, the murder rate is six per 100,000 per year, and the aggravated assault rate is four per 1,000 per year. What this means is that the vast majority of Americans are not inclined to hurt one another.
Some estimates say that two million Americans are victims of violent crimes every year, a tragic, staggering number, perhaps an all-time record rate of violent crime. But there are almost 300 million Americans, which means that the odds of being a victim of violent crime is considerably less than one in a hundred on any given year. Furthermore, since many violent crimes are committed by repeat offenders, the actual number of violent citizens is considerably less than two million.
Thus there is a paradox, and we must grasp both ends of the situation: We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep.
I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me, it is like the pretty, blue robin’s egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell.
Police officers, soldiers, and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful. For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators.
“Then there are the wolves,” the old war veteran said, “and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy.” Do you believe there are wolves out there who will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial.
“Then there are sheepdogs,” he went on, “and I’m a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf.”
If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen, a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath, a wolf.
But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? What do you have then? A sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero’s path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed
Let me expand on this old soldier’s excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial, that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids’ schools.
But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid’s school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep’s only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of denial.
The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, can not and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheep dog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.
Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn’t tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports, in camouflage fatigues, holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, “Baa.” Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog.
The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door.
Look at what happened after September 11, 2001 when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero?
Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed, right along with the young ones.
Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, “Thank God I wasn’t on one of those planes.” The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, “Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference.” When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warriorhood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference.
There is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, but he does have one real advantage. Only one. And that is that he is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population.
There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory crimes of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: Slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself.
Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I’m proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs.
Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, “Let’s roll,” which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers - athletes, business people and parents. — from sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground.
There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men. - Edmund Burke
Here is the point I like to emphasize, especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn’t have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.
If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior’s path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.
For example, many officers carry their weapons in church. They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs. Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to massacre you and your loved ones.
I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend if he carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, “I will never be caught without my gun in church.” I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a cop he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texas in 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down fourteen people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw himself on the boy’s body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, “Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?”
Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for “heads to roll” if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids’ school did not work. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them.
Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, “Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones were attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?”
It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up.
Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: you didn’t bring your gun, you didn’t train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by your fear, helplessness and horror at your moment of truth.
Gavin de Becker puts it like this in Fear Less, his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation: “…denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn’t so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling.”
Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level. And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes.
If you are warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be “on” 24/7, for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself…”Baa.”
This business of being a sheep or a sheep dog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-sand-sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other.
Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically at your moment of truth.

2006-10-07T18:01:00.000-07:00

Florida Sheriff's Deputy Matt Williams (pictured left) was shot and killed last month in the line of duty. Not only was Deputy Williams shot, but his K9 partner Diogi was shot and killed as well. As would be expected, I was saddened and angered by Deputy Williams' murder. Deputy Williams was shot and killed while backing up another deputy. His killer was stopped for a traffic violation and subsequently fled into the woods where Deputy Williams and his partner gave chase. Matt was shot eight times. Diogi was shot once in the chest. The initial deputy who stopped the killer was also shot and wounded.

"Tim, that could have been you. Are you ready to die? Are you ready to face death and not hesitate when your life is required in another's stead? What about your daughters? What about your wife?" Tough questions to have to ask yourself, yet these are the exact questions that I have been asking myself since I read the account of Matt and Diogi's murder. While I do not want to detract any attention away from Deputy Williams and his sacrifice, (please read more about him here http://www.odmp.org/officer.php?oid=18528), I do want to share with you what goes through my mind every time I mark 10-8 and begin my tour. It's this: I may give my life this day for a person whom I've never met. I may die defending someone whose name I don't even know. I may die simply for representing and upholding order and justice. And for this, I am humbled.

Do you realize that our nation's laws are what enables us to enjoy the freedoms that our country gives us? We enjoy the ability to rest in our homes because someone is out there nabbing those who would take that away from us. We travel safely down the highways to our jobs because of that officer who stops the ones who place us in jeopardy of losing that safety. In our most desperate moment ever, we know the three numbers that will send help...911. What better profession can anyone have? My family and I will sleep safely tonight because a Hero named Matt Williams was willing to fight on our behalf. Am I willing to give my life for you? You better believe it. Rest easy.

The Academy Experience (Part I)

2006-05-12T18:54:00.000-07:00

I have hung up my cammies for the last time. Unless our President decides otherwise, I will more than likely never again wear the uniform of our nation's military. Let me be quick to say that I am confident in my decision. Let me be even quicker to state that I am even more confident in the troopers who now carry the torch and fight on our behalf.

I have moved on from the defense of our nation, to the defense of my community and the community of thousands of others. I have been hired by the Police Department in the city of Suffolk, Virginia and will soon be entrusted to protect and defend her citizenry. I am beginning week nine of the sixteen week long academy at the Hampton Roads Regional Criminal Justice Training Center. Upon completion of the Academy, I will have nearly seventeen more weeks of on-the-job training before I am turned loose to patrol the streets solo.

I am excited beyond words, yet at the same time I am as apprehensive as I have ever been. For the past ten weeks of the Academy I have been reminded that I have been chosen by a profession that may at any time require my life in the line of service. And while I am willing to sacrifice my life for those whom I am sworn to protect, I realize that some day, someplace, someone may take me from my wife and daughters. They say we public servants are an interesting breed...those of us who run in while others are running out. But that's just who we are and who I am. I do this for myself, but let there be no question, I do this for my wife and our children as well. I fight bad people who would do them harm; who would do you and yours harm. Understanding this, that there are many, many bad people who would do me harm, I see my training and my experiences in the Academy as the foundation on which my career will be built.

We are an interesting breed indeed and one which the civility of our communities depends. I am writing a new chapter in the book of my life, and I look forward to sharing my experiences.

The Final Goodbye

2006-05-09T18:52:00.000-07:00

"The night before the burial of her husband's body, Katherine Cathey refused to leave the casket, asking to sleep next to his body for the last time. The Marines made a bed for her, tucking in the sheets below the flag. Before she fell asleep, she opened her laptop computer and played songs that reminded her of "Cat," and one of the Marines asked if she wanted them to continue standing watch as she slept. "I think it would be kind of nice if you kept doing it," she said. "I think that's what he would have wanted."
Â© 2005 Rocky Mountain News, Photo by Todd Heisler. http://www.pulitzer.org/year/2006/feature-photography/works/

First and foremost, my heartfelt and deepest sympathy goes out to the wives and families of these heroes. As a husband and father, I take great comfort knowing that if my life would have been required of me while fighting in Iraq, that my wife would have been given the same comfort and protection that Mrs. Cathy was given. It troubles me greatly that there are some in this country who put forth that my brother's deaths are some how the Almighty's retribution for America's moral decline. May I remind those misguided among us who argue this, that the same God said, "Greater love has no man than this: that a man lay down his life for his friends." But that's another issuealtogetherr and right now, one which I don't care to debate.

On a personal note, in earlier posts I wrote about the changes that one goes through after experiencing war...the baggage that one brings home with him. It's a struggle and it has been for me...on many different levels. I've spoken to so many others who were "over there" and in at least one aspect, we all share the same feelings; we could have done so much more while we were there. None of us wanted to die over there; all of us were willing. But when we hear/see/read about the ones who are either still there or the ones who come home in a flag-draped casket, and we are now living a life of comparative ease, somehow it just doesn't seem fair. I've resigned myself to the fact that for as long as Marines are in Iraq, a part of me will feel like I belong there fighting with them. If I were still there, I don't have a single doubt that there would be 178,000 other Marines who want to be fighting right there beside me. We are a band of brothers and none of us would have it any other way.

Linked @ http://barbette.blogspot.com/

Perspective

2006-03-22T00:54:00.000-08:00

So I was out running this afternoon taking in the sweet, fragrant Hawaiian air (have I said today that it's great to be back in the States?) when I saw something that made me smile. I saw a man sitting by himself at a stoplight in his outrageously overpriced sportscar...laughing. Seven months ago, I wouldn't have given this man a second glance. But friends, let me tell you, these are the things that you are drawn to and that seem unique after every motorist that you have seen for the past seven months has nothing but the fear of death in his eyes...a man laughing in his automobile.

We truly don't realize how much we have been given here in America. We take so much for granted and our perception of the world is so conditioned by the lifestyles that we have been blessed with. And at the risk of sounding pious, you never can fully appreciate what we have until your comfort zone is completely shattered and you are given the opportunity to see how the other half of our world is being forced to live. It's one of those things that I can try my hardest to explain, but my words will always be found lacking. It's not the lack of rounds cracking over my head, it's not the awkward silence when I lay in bed at night or the absence of walking down the street without my rifle that I notice the most...it's being able to watch others go through their day without a care in the world. They have no worries about running over an improvised explosive device planted for coalition forces...they have no concern about returning to their home to find it commandeered by insurgents and their families taken hostage. They do not fear being displaced - yet again- as a result of an imminate offensive operation in their neighborhood to rid it of insurgents.

In all fairness, not having to worry about these things is part of the benefit of living in America. But understand one thing...our lifestyles of relative bliss came at a price. And America does not have a monopoly on her citizens being willing to shed their blood to purchase these freedoms. The majority, that's right THE MAJORITY of Iraqis are now willing to stand and face these monsters and draw the line in the sand. It is my hope that we leave them with all the tools and training necessary to carry the torch and defend their homeland and are one day able to once again see their countrymen smile as they travel down their streets.

The Return

2006-03-20T21:27:00.000-08:00

I wrote along the many stops along our journey home. I am now back in Hawaii, and I will share more as the days progress. What follows, is a few paragraphs at different stops along the way from Iraq back to Hawaii:

It is almost over. We are at Al Asad airbase, which was once Saddam Hussein’s presidential airfield. It has been filled with American and coalition forces for some time now, and it is the primary redeployment staging area for all Marines heading back to the States. It is the closest thing to civilization that many of us have seen in six months. It is disturbingly odd to see non-tactical vehicles driving down the road on the base, the feeling of a porcelain toilet and the taste of a whopper. We have shuttle busses that take us to the chow hall, the PX and the MWR (Morale, Welfare and Recreation) center where many of the guys have taken to playing video games into the early morning hours. Me, I have slept twenty-six out of the past thirty-four hours. Administrative issues are the order of business tomorrow and the next day. We have to attend what many of the guys call the “I’m not crazy” class given by the Chaplain, Post-Deployment Health Assessments so that the Government covers their six when we come down with some crazy illness fifteen years from now and the Customs inspections to ensure that we have all hid our illegal war souvenirs well enough. Other than that, we are completely on autopilot and it feels great.

We have all shared our war stories and videos from combat operations and are amazed at how similar our experiences have been. There is one noticeable void and we have all been reluctantly hush-mouthed about it…Adam. We all feel it and it will be a long time before we are healed and over his heroic passing in Ramadi. There has been very little mention about him, and the few times I heard his name in conversation, it was said with heads hung and only referenced his absence. We all know that it wasn’t suppose to be this way. We were suppose to come together and leave together. Now, we are a man short and it hurts. I am going to miss this. This brotherhood that I have. It is not self-serving. We do for the good of the group. There are no favorites. If we lose one, we are weaker than we were before. We look out for each other and genuinely have one another’s best interest foremost in our minds. We are warriors and have a warrior’s bond which no nine-to-five could ever begin to offer. I will miss the life of a warrior. To be able to place my life in the hands of another, and have his place his in mine. To fight side by side; our only fear being that we may see one of our own fall. We all have seen one of us fall, and none of will ever feel the same.

We, in our own ways, are all scared. Husbands and fathers are afraid of being strangers to their wives and children. The single Marines are afraid of returning to an atmosphere of normalcy and relative serenity. We are all different men than we were six months ago. The thought of adaptation has become a collective, unspoken sore spot. The return will undoubtedly be easier for some than it will be for others but one thing is certain; we all long to return despite our fears. We all long for the lives that we left. Personally, I am apprehensive of the changes that my family has underwent since I left. My daughters know “Daddy” as a name and a voice that lives in the cell phone. My wife remembers me the way I used to be before war took a hold of so much of my mind. Yes, it’s ominous, but I long for it so much; we all do.

We are on the last leg of our journey; San Francisco International. I have given up on keeping my wristwatch on the correct time zone. A week in Al Asad, Iraq, seventeen hours in Moron, Spain, seventeen hours in Boston Massachussetes, three days at Camp Pendleton, California, and now a layover at San Fran en route to Honolulu. I am still very much compressed. Crowds make me extremely uncomfortable. Eccentric colors give me a headache. Driving down the street is a completely different experience that it has been for the past thirteen years. I am sure that this will all wear off in the near future, but until it does, it will be an interesting time. I have found that I prefer to either be alone, or with the other Marines. People just seem to annoy me since I returned. Of course California being the most rude and intrusive state that I have ever visited (sorry Californians) doesn’t help matters any. I have had to literally ignore a few people simply because I wanted to yank them up.

I've left one dream and entered another. It's hard to concieve how the life that I've lived for twenty-nine years could now seem abnormal. It's so different; I almost feel out of place, yet it feels so good to be that much closer to home. It feels akward writing in a barracks room as opposed to a bombed out building. It will defintely take some time. I've begun to notice how much my time in Iraq has affected me. I find myself still scanning roadsides, finding a corner in a crowded area and staring at people a bit more than I should. And as I expected, I can't bring myself to watch the news and see the Marines, my brothers, still fighting over there. I am just taking it all in right now and hoping that the sense of normalcy returns soon.

...And thus, the Chapter Ends.

2006-02-20T02:45:00.000-08:00

This will be my last post for a while as I will soon begin the much-anticipated trek back to the States. My mind is spinning as I reflect back on everything that has transpired during my six months here and I hope that this post turns out to be more than a collection of scatter-brained thoughts and comments. It is extremely difficult to meld six months chock full of life-changing events into a few coherent, sensible paragraphs. But I shall do my best. Also, please understand that so many are giving so much here, and I do not want to give the impression that I am doing, or have done anything more than anyone else. We are all knee-deep in our duties here, and we are all facing, or will eventually face, the same realities which I am going to share.

So much has been gained here, so much has been lost. So many memories, so much I wish I could erase from my memory. Iraq will be a different country than it was when I arrived, and I will leave a different person; although how different, only time and reacquainting with friends and family will tell. But I can say without reservation that Iraq is a better country than it was before I landed. I have helped rid several cities of insurgents during all out, multi-week combat operations. It will be a long time before I fully come to grips with everything that has happened to me during these past six months. I have been introduced to and at times, fully immersed in the stark realities of war. I have seen the horrors of war. I have been shot at. I have had cars and buildings blow up all around me. I have walked down streets cluttered with the horrors of destruction. I have seen the necessity of war. I have seen children walking to their newly rebuilt school. I have seen ladies carrying their newborn babies to freshly stocked clinics. I have seen families liberated from captivity by insurgents in their own homes. I have seen both the necessity and the horrors of it, and how much it has affected me and my personality, time will tell.

I have said it before, and I will say it again…Your Marines are some of the hardest working, dedicated individuals that the world has ever seen. We have once again answered the call to duty, and performed some of the most challenging and difficult duties faced by mankind. Some of the men whom I’ve worked with here are not even a year out of high school…amazing. But yet they conduct themselves with a professionalism and maturity that is a rarity anywhere. I wish you all could witness for yourselves what it is I am trying to describe. I have been astonished time and time again by the bravery and selflessness of the boys whom I’ve fought with. Our country is in great hands and I am at peace knowing that I leave our mission here to their charge.

It is with a heavy heart that I leave my brothers here to fight without me. Part of me wants to stay here until our mission is accomplished; but the Corps has told me that at least for the time, my mission here has been accomplished. I will soon be reunited with my wife and daughters and will once again be able to continue my most important mission...being a husband to my wife and a father to our children.

Finally, I want to offer my heart-felt thanks to all those who have prayed, sent letters, packages, and thoughts my way. They have been such a support and encouragement and I can’t thank you enough. I wish you could see the Marines walking from the Post Office with a letter or package from home. It just makes you smile…it made me smile. Thanks again and please stay in the fight…we need you.

Opinion vs. Truth

2006-02-13T01:56:00.000-08:00

As most of you know...well, you probably don't know, so let me tell you; I am not one to snub my nose at someone for an opinion that they may have, and I did not intend for this to be a website dedicated to apologetics. But a good friend directed my attention to an issue that I think deserves some attention and some thought.

Personal opinions, more importantly the freedom to express these opinions, are a part of Americana and what so many of us are fighting for. For Pete's sake, our own country's congress is divided (if not in thought and opinion, then in the chamber's seating arrangements) and to stifle the freedom of opinion in America would limit, if not remove altogether, the honest and at times, heated discourse between people of differing opinions. Although (with tongue firmly planted in cheek), while I think that The World According to Tim would be on NY Time's bestseller's list, I am grateful that people are comfortable to voice their dissent with many of my views and voice their own individual opinions. But you have to ask yourself (and this question is the whole point of this post), are you arguing in defense of your opinion, or in the defense of truth? This is a very important question, as we must not waiver in our defense of truth; opinion however, is just that.

I think that where we run into problems is when people opinionate truth. Or worse, replace truth with opinion. By this, I mean when people take truth and spin it to fit their ideas. Within this distortion, the truth found in freedom of speech becomes freedom of action; a license to do whatever you please. Separation of affairs concerning the State and the Church becomes all things State, and no things Church. Liberating oppressed countries from tyrants becomes American imperialism; truths fabricated to suit individual opinions. We have become a nation where many twist and contort the foundational truths of our Democracy to fit their personal paradigms. Listen, truth is not open to personal opinions. If it were, it would not be truth. There can only be one version of Truth. You can believe with all your heart that the sky is brown; you can even convince yourself that the sky is brown. But guess what? At the end of the day, the sky will not be brown regardless of how you spin it.

I am deeply angered and saddened when the future leaders of our nation believe that America's war heroes, my brothers, are not the sort that they wish to memorialize (see highlighted article above). I think that it is disgusting, distasteful and extremely un-American (borderline treasonous). I say pick up a rifle and stand a post. Put your life on the line and then criticize. As far as their campus, the number of memorials erected, etc., this is a valid argument open to opinion and one not in my purview. To propose however, that Col. Boyington et al are not worthy of our remembrance and memorial is insanity. One cannot argue that Americans who died to give them their right to hold opinions are not of the character and nobility to warrant memorial. It's like arguing for the abolition of oxygen on the grounds that it is unnecessary, as you inhale.

Many of these same individuals would argue that we are needlessly and haphazardly sending America's sons and daughters into harms way in Iraq. Mrs. Cindy Sheehan has asked, "How many more sons and daughters?" My answer to her? Ma'am, as many as it takes! But I digress...If her opinion is that America has waged an unjust war, again, as ignorant as I believe she and her opinion to be, I cannot criticize her for exercising a right which I fight to defend. She may have crossed certain boundaries as far as etiquette is concerned, but I am strictly speaking on her expression (and others like her) of the war and on issues open to opinion...not truth.

What I fear that we have lost in this country, is the ability to see the difference between truth and opinion. "Live and let live". "Truth is whatever you think it is." What result, other than anarchy, should we expect when everyone thinks that their opinion is truth? America is making her bed. My fear is that we will wake up too late to realize that we are sleeping with fallacies and misguided notions of right and wrong. Have your opinions. Argue them till you are blue in the face! I am fighting for this right of yours. But please, for America's sake, at the end of the day, sacrifice your opinions on the altar of truth. Just one man's opinion.

2006-02-08T12:05:00.000-08:00

I wrote the following poem after returning from a particularly "challenging" mission.

I’m a man whose been torn in two;
giving all to my family and the job that I must do.
It is my hope that one day they will understand,
it is for them that I fight in this foreign land.

I fight for a peace that I may never see;
but to do nothing will lead to anarchy.
I hope against all hopes that we are right;
for a lasting peace, this is why we fight.

I look ahead and stare into the hollow;
I look behind me and see that my brothers, they follow.
We walk on knowing not friend from foe;
seeing the stare of death that only we can know.

Our fear of the grave long since passed;
as a childhood dream that was never meant to last.
We live now not in a world of fantasy,
but rather in the gravest of reality.

I pray only for a tomorrow, for it is guaranteed to none.
“Dear God, courage grant me. This I ask, Your humble son.”
“And if in the morning I shall rise,
onward shall I march toward the prize.”

Legions of angels gather ‘round about me;
for in His name, my enemies shall flee.
His shield I bear in battle as I go;
filled with a peace only His children will ever know.

And if on the field of battle my blood is shed,
these things I ask about me be said:
To my family, my God and my country I was true;
a man of my word, just as my father taught me, as he was too.

That I gave my life in the same way that it was lived,
in service to others, giving all that I could give.
That I left behind the most noble legacy,
a life lived for others, being all that I could be.

My Mind...My Weapon

2006-02-01T07:00:00.000-08:00

Sleep is always elusive on the eve of a mission. On these nights, my mind is constantly going over scenarios, "what if's", IA (immediate action) drills...and over and over and over. It is a cruel combination of my survival instinct and training, and it can be extremely frustrating. But one thing is certain and will be for as long as I am over here: I will ALWAYS be mentally prepared. It's the intelligent warriors who win wars; those warriors who study their enemy's techniques, tactics and procedures; who have mentally prepared themselves for any number of circumstances and who are never, I repeat never caught without a contingency plan and a backup for the contingency.

Our minds here are the most valuable weapon that we have and are also at times, the most difficult to maintain. It's almost a battle within a battle. You fight to maintain focus, clarity of thought and mental acuity so that you will be an effective weapon on the battlefield. The world we live in, like any combat zone, is filled with life-or-death situations which require split-second decisions that must be made under the most demanding of circumstances. The time to prepare your mind for this eventuality is not when the first round cracks, for by this time, it's too late. The time to do this is when you're lying in bed staring at the ceiling replaying routes, actions on the objective, contact drills and evacuation procedures over and over and over in your head. This is what keeps your most valuable weapon in the fight when the rounds fly and what will eventually get you and your brothers home.

I will be the first to tell you that this takes its toll. I return from every mission mentally exhausted. Even after the mission is completed and I have returned to the relative safety of the wire, my mind replays the mission's events like a broken record. Every step along the way to the mission's completion is filled with lessons, reminders and unfortunately at times, mistakes. Snapshots of choke-points, possible sniper hides, rubble piles, rooftops, freshly unearthed dirt...the list goes on and on. If ignored, these images will become nothing more than mental clutter which will dirty your weapon and leave you less prepared for the next mission...if you make it to another mission. Organized however, this collage of images can assist you in becoming more cognizant of your surroundings and allow you to have an incredible amount of focus.

It's an incredibly tough task attempting to put into words the mental processes involved in fighting a war, and this may prove to be one of those entries better suited to be included in the personal journal. The reason I chose to share this, albeit somewhat ineptly, is because I feel there is a great life-lesson to be learned from my experience here...although I fear it may have been lost in my rambling. At any rate, in everyday life we all have our own battles to fight, we all have our own "missions" to accomplish. Mental preparedness coupled with ferverent prayer are, I believe, the most important ingredients to being successful on the battlefield here, and on the battlefield of life. They have both worked for me thus far, and I pray that they will continue to do so.

-Just the thoughts of a simple man.

Operation Arabian

2006-01-25T03:26:00.000-08:00

There are many unique aspects to the dynamics of my job. I could easily make your head spin if I attempted to explain how my command structure is organized here. Unlike many military units, working dog teams do not deploy in large groups; in battalion or regimental size units for example. We deploy in small numbers and are operationally attached to other larger units. Because of our small numbers and the force multiplier that a dog team is to any unit conducting counter-insurgency operations, we are often requested to assist other units during their combat missions and operations. A part of my job here that I love, is that every mission is unique. My core mission here as a Marine dog handler is to detect and locate explosives or explosive devices and to apprehend or otherwise neutralize anti-coalition personnel...and this never changes. While my overall mission is constant, the circumstances surrounding these individual operations and missions always presents me with a fresh and unique set of circumstances to work under. No mission is ever the same. My most recent operation, "Operation Arabian" was no exception. I was attached to the 414th Stryker Brigade; an Army unit based in Alaska.

I was escorted to one of our Battle Positions under the cover of the darkness of early morning. An element of the 414th met me at the BP with several Stryker vehicles and escorted me to their headquarters. Later that day I attended the mission briefing outlining the mission's overall objectives, NAI's (named areas of interest) and other coordinating instructions. Truth be told, I was somewhat a fish out of water. I have never attended an Army mission brief before and it was an interesting time. Acronyms are as prevalent in the military as are egos; and both, at times, are equally hard to understand. I have been in the Marines for nearly eight years now and I have yet to master the art of acronym interpretation. Now, in this mission briefing, I was being exposed to a whole new lexicon. I wished more than anything that I had been issued an interpreter like our Iraqi officer counterparts. Many times during the brief, I found myself leaning over to my Army counterpart and humbly asking what this meant, or what that represented on the terrain model. By the end of the mission brief however, I had a clear understanding of our mission, timeline and the NAI's (Don't worry...you will get used to the acronyms after a while). I am not going to go into much detail about the mission out of concerns for operational security, but there were a few interesting and somewhat hair-raising moments during the mission which I would like to share.

So there we were...plodding along in our Stryker at a comfortable rate when the gunner yelled out into his mic, "STOP!...STOP THE TRUCK!", as he whipped his .50 cal around the the right side of the vehicle. At the time, I was standing in the rear gunner's hatch and had communication with the crew so I heard his gentle request. I immediately began scanning the barren landscape for any movement; ready to engage. The crew chief asked the gunner what he had. His response caused my heart to race. "Boss", he replied, "I think we just drove into a mine field". I looked outside the vehicle and saw symmetrical circles in the sand in a perfectly straight line on either side of our Stryker...our tires had miraculously passed directly in between two of these circles. The crew chief looked at me as he reached for the mic button on his helmet...I beat him to the punch. "There's no way I'm going out there with my dog Boss". "Call the Engineers", I said, "and let's back this thing out of here." It was a nerve wrenching five minutes as we backed the 23 ton vehicle. The Engineers came and determined that our "mine field" was in fact not a mine field, but rather a camp site recently evacuated by a Bedouin shepherd. The circles in the sand were all that was left of his camp and were the imprints left by his tent poles. It's experiences like this that keep you constantly on your toes and make every mission unique...and for this mission, it was just the beginning.

We completed our mission and the Troop (the Army's equivalent of a Marine company) consolidated at the predetermined rally point to begin the two hour trek back to the COP (Combat Outpost). It was light when we began our return trip, but it was getting dark when the Stryker driver realized that his NOD (night observation device) was inoperable. Murphy's Law states that whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment and I am convinced that Mr. Murphy was on that Stryker with us. Sure, we could drive with white light...and risk getting the entire convoy mortared, or we could drive blacked out and risk driving off a 30ft cliff into a wadi; neither option even coming close to ideal. We decided to drive blacked out and have the gunner assist the driver. "Right...Right...No, Left...Right...Straight...STOP...STOP". This went on for the entire two hours. Halfway into the return, I wanted to just get out and walk. We eventually made it back to the COP and were greeted with a salvo of mortar rounds fired from somewhere within the city. I saw the first flash off in the distance as we were entering the COP. Then more...and getting closer. "Incoming!", I yelled. I ducked back inside the Stryker and yanked the overhead hatch closed. To add fuel to the fire, (no pun intended), we were directly adjacent to the fuel bladders. 40 thousand pounds of fuel and a mortar strike could make for a very bad day for alot of people. In typical insurgent fashion, I was told that they ceased their attack and ran before we could ascertain where their mortar position(s) was/were. The QRF (quick reaction force) was launched and I am unaware of the outcome. The fun is never-ending around here.

This was just a typical week in the life of a combat Marine fighting to rid this country of its garbage. We will continue to take the fight to the enemy until there is no enemy, but peace. Until this day comes, we stand ready to execute tempered violence when necessary on your behalf and for the sake of our country and her citizens...the Marines always have, and we always will. Semper Fidelis.

Brrrrrrrrrrr!

2006-01-16T13:23:00.000-08:00

It's a very cold night here in Iraq. If I had to guess, I'd say it's in the thirties. I, being the glutton for punishment that I am, just returned from a run. My lungs are hurting from breathing the freezing air, my knees are aching and my legs are screaming. I couldn't feel any better! What I absolutely love about running, especially in the cold, is that it gives me an opportunity to push myself...it gives my body an opportunity to battle with my mind. The first shots were fired in tonight's skirmish as soon as I exited my hooch and sucked in that first lung-full of frigid air. I knew this was coming and stepped off before I could give my mind a chance to convince me otherwise.

This may seen trivial to some...this whole mind/body game that I play with myself. But every battle that my body wins over my mind makes me mentally stronger. And in my environment, mental fortitude is essential. There have been so many times here that I have wanted to give into my mind when it has told me to slow down or quit. Not an option. Please don't misunderstand me...I do not have a large red "S" painted on my chest, nor do I change my clothes in a telephone booth. I am not trying to portray myself as anything other than a simple man learning lessons about what it takes to be successful in combat and in life. Every one of these lessons that I learn, by God's grace, may save lives. It may in fact one day be my own.

Today, I saw some fruits of our labors here. As I was on a patrol with the Iraqi army, I saw large groups of children walking to school. Backpacks, books, and smiles. It was a real joy. I saw an American soldier help a young girl fix her shoe which had broke sometime on her way to school; 550 cord and duct tape will fix absolutely anything! It was moving. I have said all along that among other things, this is a generational war we are fighting. These young children will one day lead this country. Every simple gesture, such as what I witnessed today, will be a memory tomorrow that will eventually lead to our long-term success in this country. It has without a doubt been a collective effort, but I gained a real sense of personal satisfaction by what I witnessed today, and I hope and pray that tomorrow will bring the same.

There is currently a very expansive reconstruction effort in Iraq currently being conducted by the coalition forces and our leadership. In many respects and in many cities, we are giving a large number of Iraqi's better living conditions than before we arrived. It is an unfortunate fact of warfare that infrastructure is often damaged or destroyed to accomplish a mission. By helping to rebuild (and in some cases, build) this infrastructure, we once again show the Iraqi people our commitment to their stability and their country's independence. It is our desire to have the Iraqi citizens to row with us, not against us and this can only be when we convince them of our intentions and show that we are here for the long haul.

Sgt Cann was laid to rest today at Arlington National cemetery. His memory and dedication go with all of us who knew him. America is a stronger nation as a result of his selfless service. He will be missed.

In Memoriam - Sgt Adam Cann/USMC

2006-01-11T12:36:00.000-08:00

It's been a tough week for me. America lost a great warrior this week, and I lost a very close friend and fellow dog handler. On the morning of the 6th of January, Sgt Adam Cann was killed in action in Ar Ramadi while conducting security operations at an Iraqi Police recruiting station. The coward that took Sgt Cann from us, walked into the crowd of recruits and detonated his suicide vest, killing Sgt Cann and many others. Adam will be buried at Arlington National cemetery later this week. I encourage you to say a special prayer for the comfort and peace of his family.

While his brave passing has hit me like a ton of bricks, I have a cherished memory of him that I will carry with me on every future battlefield that I am on. He was my roommate at Camp Lejeune while we were preparing to deploy, and it was there that he shared with me a part of his heart. He told me that if he wasn't able to come home with us, that he wanted us to press on without him. Adam, we will press on brother. Thank you for your friendship, your courage, and most importantly, your commitment to our country and her cause. You will be missed and the torch which you have passed us will never be extinguished. Semper Fidelis, Marine. We have the watch now.

I don't want this post to focus on me, but there is a lesson that Sgt Cann taught me and one which I think we all could benefit from learning. When I was informed of his passing, I must admit, I was extremely angry. Although every American life lost here is without a doubt a tragedy, for me, Adam's death hit a bit closer to home than others. It caused me to really look inside myself, and this is when Adam taught me his lesson. It would be so easy for me to succumb to my anger and frustration and begin to question our involvement and presence in Iraq; which many are currently doing. This would undoubtedly be the easy solution. But Adam's words to me that evening in North Carolina reminded me that it would not be the right solution. I could easily redirect my anger at America, at Iraq, at our President and very easily lose my commitment to our cause. But I, and Americans as well, need to understand that our determination need not, and should not, diminish with the loss of America lives here...It needs to grow. Every American life that is lost here needs to fan the flame of liberty and cause it to burn a bit brighter. If my life if required of me here, and my family's, my friend's and my fellow Marine's commitment is not strengthened as a result, I have failed them, and in the bigger picture, I have failed America.

Enough about me...Adam, rest easy. You will always be an inspiration to me, and to those who served with you. It is my hope that one day I can visit your grave and salute you. Your sacrifice has caused our fire here to burn stronger and brighter.

The Way It Is

2006-01-06T12:07:00.000-08:00

In Iraq, America is not fighting a traditional war. There will never be a declaration of surrender signed by our enemy conceding their defeat. Understand this...this war will not end with signatures. I say this for many reasons, but foremost is because our enemy has no true leader. Sure, they have cave-dwellers who claim to be in charge, but these cowards understand that their minions will not cease their campaign of terror simply because they have signed a document. We are fighting a war of counter-insurgency...the most difficult, and I would argue the most misunderstood and complex type of war that exists in modern times.

For the warfighter on the ground, this type of war poses so many dangers. In part because to win this type of war, you have to win the hearts and minds of the majority. In order to do this, we the ground-pounders, have to take risks. We have to come to the point where we signify to the peaceful majority that we have entered a new phase in the war...a phase of temporary co-existence. We simply cannot perpetually continue an all out campaign of destruction (which at one time, was the only way to operate) and expect to win hearts and minds of the peaceful majority. If we do not enter this phase, in the long run, only the innocents will suffer and I believe that we will have great difficulty accomplishing our goals here in this country.

Our enemies understand this. They know that by appearing as the peaceful majority with whom we must eventually ally ourselves, that this will give them a short-term advantage. This will allow their suicide bombers to be able to walk into a crowd of police recruits and detonate themselves. This will allow the VBIED's driving down the streets appearing to going to work, to destroy civilians. The insurgents understand that Iraq, with our assistance is moving forward. And they are without a doubt from time to time, going to exploit these risks that we must take to progress. In the short term, these risks may lead to more coalition casualties as we move forward. But in the long term, it is the only way that we are going to continue to move forward and eventually win this war. In a sense, the insurgents are attempting to accomplish the exact opposite that we are. We are trying, through a campaign of tempered force, to show the majority in Iraq that we are accomplishing so much here for their good, while our enemies are trying to show the majority in America that all we are accomplishing nothing.

There have been times recently here when outside the wire, I have wanted to conduct "business as usual". A vehicle driving past me while I am walking on patrol?...are you kidding me? Four months ago...not a chance. But you know what? Now I must take risks which, for as long as I am here, leads to coexistence with the peaceful majority; because that is the only way that we are going to progress and begin to win hearts and minds of the peaceful majority. It stinks, I know. I hate it. But it is simply the facts of counterinsurgency. And that is just the way it is.

Be Proud America

2006-01-04T04:59:00.000-08:00

"I must study politics and war so that my sons may have the liberty to study mathematics and philosophy." -John Adams

I woke up this morning to the walls of my hooch shaking and the unmistakable "thud...thud" of mortars being fired and impacting. I wasn't totally convinced that I had not dreamed the sounds and shudders so I laid there giving the wall that, "Are you playing with me?" look. Nope..."thud...thud...thud...thud", this time accompanied by SAF (small arms fire). After a quick kiss from my girls [' picture], I donned my "battle rattle" and headed out to take a look-see. Bingo voiced his objection to me leaving him inside, certain that once again, he was going to miss out on all the action.

I'm sure I was a sight in my green PT shorts, green sweatshirt, untied boots and beenie on my head. But darnit, if Haji wanted to come play in our house, I sure wasn't going to be late to the party. So there I stood...waiting for the call to arms. "Thud...thud...crack...crack...crack". Closer this time. "Wait a minute..." I realized that the barrage sounded awfully close to the range. "You dummy! It's Marines on the range!" As I adjusted my gear, I of course gave the casual "machismo" look around as if to say, "Yep, just as I thought...my gear fits just as good outside as it does inside". I ducked back inside as fast as I could.

A good friend of mine returned yesterday from a coalition hospital in Baghdad. He was injured in a roadside blast from an IED. And although his wounds were not life-threatening, they were serious enough to warrant evac to Baghdad. It was great to see him return, and I wanted to share his story with you. Let me tell ya', when you drive down the roads here, the pucker-factor is very high. Some of you probably don't know what the "pucker-factor" is, but those of you who do, you can appreciate it. At any rate, as you travel down the roads here, your greatest threat is from the IED's. You are constantly on edge. And for Sgt V., I'll call him, to have this fear validated, to have looked your worse fear in the face and come back for more, is either the mark of a very courageous Marine, or a masochist. Without a doubt, Sgt V. rated the purple heart, but he did not want it. Why? In his words, "I was in the right place at the wrong time...why should I be awarded for that? It's my job." He is a great example of having the right motives. He does not do his job in search of glory or fanfare, but rather for the intangibles; those rewards that you cannot see, but in your heart, you can feel.

This story has been told many times since this war began. The names and circumstances have been different, but the moral has remained consistent. We are not here on a glory-hunt. There is no medal or piece of colored ribbon that could even come close to meaning more to us than knowing that at the end of the day, we did our jobs and accomplished our missions. Sgt V's story is a microcosm of the bigger picture here. Your Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines are accomplishing our missions while continuing the highest traditions of military prowess and soldierly virtues that has made our enemies fear and respect our nation...whether they care to admit it or not. War is a terrible thing and is without a doubt should be a nation's last option. But when a country is given no other option for a peaceful resolution to conflict, it's all or nothing. Rest assured that America's men and women are giving it our all and we will continue to do so every time that you call on us.

Say what you will about our war, but I challenge you to look into the face of any one of the Marines whom I've had the pleasure to go into combat with; search their souls and try to find anything in his eyes other than a dedication to his country. You would be wasting your time. Be proud America. Stand a little taller tomorrow when you go to work and if someone asks you why, you tell them that you live in the greatest nation on the face of the planet. Tell them that today, there are young men and women a world away fighting to preserve your way of life. Tell them that you are proud to be an American. If you disagree with this war, that is fine. No one can berate you for exercising your rights which we are fighting to defend. But unite under that banner which we call "Old Glory"...a banner which I would gladly go to my grave to defend.

(Linked at radiobs)

It's Called Commitment

2005-12-30T12:55:00.000-08:00

I suppose there is a time where every warfighter is afraid. The soldier storming the beach at Normandy, the trooper crawling into a tunnel in the jungles of Vietnam, the Marine patroling the streets of Iraq...fear on the battlefield is nothing new. And truth be told, I am certain that I am not the only one who has, at one time or another, been afraid over here. But I want to share with you something that America knows of her Marines, but is sometimes at best taken for granted and at worst forgotten alltogether; the commitment of your Marines when faced with fear.

For the past 230 years, Marines have answered America's call to duty. Today's Marines fight with the same sense of commitment that our brothers fought with in 1775. From the first day of boot camp, our Drill Instructors taught us that regardless of the circumstances in which we may find ourselves, our bodies are much stronger than our minds and the mission must be accomplished...no exceptions! And trust me, we are on a mission and we are committed to the success of our mission; regardless of our fears, surroundings or circumstances. Because we know our enemy, his mentality and his tactics, we have the ability to constantly be one step ahead. The only thing that our enemy knows of us is that to engage in a direct confrontation will result in a very bad day for him; so they have resigned themselves to dying. In their minds, they have already lost. Their ship is sinking and the only thing that they can do is try to take as many of us down with them as is possible. Our enemies are extremely one-dimensional. Their minds are as rudimentary as their tactics. We have shown, and continue to show our enemies the commitment required to win a war. We have shown them our ruthlessness in combat, our expertise is all things soldierly and our compassion when it is called for. They are fighting a war of attrition and their only hope is that we quit; a word not found in any Marine's vocabulary.

America, your Marines will not stop taking this fight to the enemies of our country. I wish that everyone could see just a fraction of what I see here everyday. I wish that you could hear the conversations between Marines that I hear. For if you did, you would understand why we are going to win this war and it would give you an understanding of the commitment that has made our Corps the most feared fighting force on the face of the planet. And while this may not be possible, take my word for it...we are committed to you, we are committed to this cause and we are committed to seeing that when America calls on us, we will always be ready to answer her call. Semper Fidelis...Always Faithful.

(Linked at The Mudville Gazette)

Bingo's Pal

2005-12-29T03:35:00.000-08:00

I thought I'd show you Bingo's newest buddy, Dita. She is a three year old German Shepherd and much to Bingo's delight, loves to run. She is however, much faster than my "bull in a china shop", but he loves the chase none the less.
I think I have finally discovered the secret to calming him down...a few minutes running after her.

Christmas Night

2005-12-28T13:15:00.000-08:00

Well, Christmas has come and gone...or is it came and went? At any rate, my brothers and I here had a wonderful day...capped of by a "fireside chat" on our back porch. By "porch" I mean of course a few fold-up chairs from our local Wal-Mart with some strategically placed sandbags and our burn barrel. What is it about fire that elicits conversation? I have no idea, but our rendezvous on Christmas night was no exception. If you are hoping to read about daring missions, feats of heroism and overcoming overwhelming odds in the process...do read on.

There are so many experiences that we all have had here. Many of which we keep repressed in that little place in the mind behind the door labeled "Off Limits". I however, was content to just sit back and listen. The conversation, as it often does, gravitated toward family and home. And as I stared at the glow of the fire, all I could think of was my Father. He and I used to sit our back yard during the cold months and have a fire very similar to the ones that my brothers and I had on Christmas night. "It's not cold enough son." As a boy, I remember these words from my Father would take the wind out of my sails. Because, you see, it was during those times sitting beside a fire with my Father that I felt like he would open his "Off Limits" door to me and teach me so much about becoming a man; a lesson which I am fairly certain he never knew he was teaching. I am reasonably sure that if you asked him, he would tell you that it was a insignificant event, but it is without a doubt, one that I will never forget. My Father was sitting there with me on Christmas night, and in my silence, he was teaching me just as he did when I was a boy.

You know, - and this is my own personal opinion which you are free to disagree with if you so choose -, but I think at times I get more credit than I deserve. People thank me for fighting this war, when the people they need to thank are my parents for instilling in me a love and appreciation for our freedom, for our country, for our fellow man and for our God. They were the brave ones who went against the tide of parenting "experts" who preached the sermon of first and foremost, being your children's friend. They were the ones who made more sacrifices for their children than I could even begin to write about. Yes, they are the ones who deserve the thanks and admiration for without them, I would not be the man whom I've become...and the man who is now fighting on behalf of his fellow man.

America owes a hearty thanks to the parents of her sons and daughters. The men who made our country great would undoubtedly agree.

In the Quiet Place

2005-12-24T11:42:00.000-08:00

For some, these days are the worst. The quiet days. Days when you run out of things to do to occupy your mind. There is no one shooting at you. You've read until your eyes hurt. Your weapon can't get any cleaner. You can almost feel it coming on. It starts with a stare at a wall, or a picture. You fight it because you've been there so many times before and you know exactly where it is going to take you. But for some reason, there are times when you just don't want to fight it. You want to lose yourself in those sweet memories of home, family and friends.

I have fought this battle more times than I can remember. I have quit fighting it because I have learned over time, that this intraspection reminds me what I am fighting for. We all surround ourselves here with as many of these memories as is possible. So much so, that it is difficult to avoid them. I keep pictures of my wife and my daughters in my helmet so that at every moment, they are there with me. I sleep surrounded by pictures of my family. When I go to sleep, it is my wife and children's faces that I see. When I wake up, they are there to smile at me and say "Good morning Daddy", and indeed every morning is just that.

It is a tough job that we do, but one that is not without reward. During these quiet moments, I am reminded of home and it has become my motivation. It has become my ally. My reward will be when I return to my family knowing that our world is safer now because of me and men like me. Men who recognized how much our country and families are depending on us to fulfill our responsibilities to them. Men who say to their families and countrymen, "No one will hurt you on my watch." I am fighting this war for many reasons. I fight for my country, let there be no doubt. But more importantly, I am fighting for my family. I fight for the world which my children will inherit from me. I fight so that one day, they will not have to. And I have become grateful for these times of relative quiet; because it is in this quiet that I can hear my wife and children thanking me. It is when I can see myself giving my daughters away in marriage. It is when I see my wife and I growing old together. Yes, it is a tough job but it is in the quiet that I am reminded of why I am here and where I find my reward...And it keeps me going.

I have no idea what this world will be like after I am gone. There will probably be many more "Iraq's" in our future. But each one that I fight, is potentially one less that I will be leaving for my children and grandchildren to fight. My parents, without a doubt, gave me a better world than the one that they were given and I will go to my grave knowing that I have done the same for my children and for theirs.

The Timid Soul

2005-12-23T10:35:00.000-08:00

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly...Who knows the great enthusiams, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who have never known neither victory nor defeat.

- Teddy Roosevelt

This is one of my favorite quotes of all time. For many reasons, but foremost because it reminds me that my life was meant to be lived with a purpose; engaged in noble causes which life presents. What a waste it is to live and never feel that you have made a difference. One of my greatest personal fears is that I will leave this earth and not have somehow accomplished something meaningful. That when my time here is finished, I will have been one of the "cold and timid" souls.

I fear that this is what is happening is our society today. So many are afraid of the possibility of defeat when faced with a challenge, that the are compelled to inaction; or even worse, inaction coupled with criticism of those who tackle the challenge head-on. I don't know about you, but I would rather fail while attempting great things, than to succeed in all things mediocre. And I believe our present situation in Iraq is a great example of this. We are helping to create a democracy. Do you realize how significant this is? America is passing on a legacy (to a willing people) left to us by great men; which I believe is our responsibility. Yet as we strive in our attempt, as we taste the sweetness of success, we are constantly reminded of that imobilizing fear...the fear of failure.

Failure to us on the ground here, is not even a remote possibility. We do not fear failure, because we are not going to fail. What we do fear however, is inaction brought about by the timid soul. We fear that America will fall prey to those who would rather risk nothing and as a result, accomplish nothing. My brothers and I fear that America will one day no longer be seen as a country of pioneers and patriots, but a nation who is no longer willing to walk to the edge and take the leap; to be willing to risk failure in search of greatness. In Iraq, America has walked to the edge. We looked down and we saw the possibility of failure in every direction. And then, with a gentle nudge and whisper from our forefathers, we jumped and began to soar. Others,(insert appropriate country's name here), froze and faced about. And you know what? That's alright. Because I believe that history will show them to be exactly what they are, timid souls. No, we don't fear failure. We fear becoming that timid soul.

Operation Moonlight

2005-12-20T07:08:00.000-08:00

It's 1815, Tuesday evening. Bingo and I have just returned from assisting the Iraqi Army in Operation Moonlight; a "cordon and knock" mission along the Euphrates river. There were three Iraqi battalions from the 1st Iraqi Brigade involved in the operation which covered a large swath of desert on either side of the river just East of the city of Ubaydi (See picture).

I was greatly impressed with the performance of the Iraqi soldiers who bring a much needed local face to the coalition's operations. Many of the soldiers whom I served with brought a wealth of combat experience to the fight from previous operations in Fallujah, Najaf, and most recently Operation Steel Curtain within the cities of Husaybah and Karibala. Most importantly, the Iraqi soldiers fight with passion fueled by a their desire to take the torch and defend their homeland unassisted. While they are willing to serve beside coalition forces, each soldier that I spoke to about their progress told me (in broken English) how much pride they take in the defense of their country. They are also quick to tell you how thankful they are for "Ameriki's" assistance. Also worthy of note, is that Operation Moonlight was a milestone for the Iraqi army as it was the first ever brigade size operation conducted by the newly created army.

Although the soldier's tactics could use a bit of refining, they have something that you cannot teach a warrior...heart. Every one of these men would walk the four corners of the earth to defend their country. On the eve of my indoc (try-out) for the Military Police Special Reaction Team, the team's chief, a Gunnery Sergeant whom I respect greatly, told us that he could teach tactics to a monkey, but something that he couldn't teach anybody was how to have heart and determination and how to keep your body going when your mind tells it to quit. I will never forget his words..."Gents, you've either got it, or you don't", the Gunny told us bluntly. "And starting tomorrow, my job is to see who has it, and wave bye-bye to those who don't. Your mind will give up long before your body will." I did not see a single soldier during the operation who didn't have "it". They caused me to dig a bit deeper as we went tromping along across the desert.

The operation started at dawn. I was one of several Marines participating in the operation aimed at locating any anti-coalition materials or fighters within the villages and farmlands along the Euphrates. The topography of the land was mostly wide-open desert with small villages scattered throughout. The villages resembled petting zoos and had a variety of wildlife that would have made your local zoo green with jealousy. I now know why they call it the "fertile crescent" as the wildlife is without a doubt, fertile. To my dismay and much to Bingo's pleasure, they also had more wild dogs than I could count. Three-legged dogs, dogs missing ears, furless dogs...we saw them all and Bingo was determined to greet each one. It made life very interesting for me. As I have stated in earlier posts, Bingo is three going on one and taking him into this kind of environment is like taking your toddler to Chuck-E-Cheese's and making him bring his homework with him. Oil and water. He was especially fond of the lambs and baby goats, totally convinced that their retreat was an invitation to go frolic on the river's bank. But we trodded along, Bingo did in fact work and in the end, I was confident that what he and I searched was void of explosives.

The sun set on a bunch of worn out and sore-footed troops. It took some convincing on our parts to dissuade the Iraqi soldiers from lighting bonfires amidst our bivouac site. "Trust us guys, you'd rather be cold, than have mortars raining down on your heads". At times I thought that they would rather have mortars fall on their heads than be cold. But in the end, common sense prevailed and we kept warm by laughing at each other's pronunciation of English and Arabic phrases. I woke up (many times) throughout the night, sleeping only long enough for one side of my body to go numb and remind me that it was time to flip and pay the other side some attention. It was during one of these moments of reveille, that I realized why they named the operation as they did. The moon was shining low in the sky and completely illuminated the desert landscape. Had it not been so cold, I may have emerged from my cocoon long enough to take a picture, but as it is, my inadequate description will have to suffice. The morning, as it so often does, came much too early and wouldn't you know it...I forgot my snooze button!

The dawn brought little warmth, and we stepped off this day the same as we had yesterday. As we made our way through the villages, it was readily apparent that we were a novelty to the children. It did however, take some goading on out part to get them to come close enough to hand them some skittles or other trinkets. On one particular occassion, Bingo was sitting down next to me with his leash connected to a tree. A throng of children looked, pointed and laughed in our general direction...albeit at a very safe distance. Bingo was a hit and he had the children enthralled (I think it's because he had two ears). They looked, pointed and repeated "chelub", Arabic for...you guessed it, dog. Well, I thought it would be a hoot if I got him and showed them some stupid pet tricks in Bingo's not-so-expansive repoitoir...play dead, etc. I was wrong...very wrong. I have never seen kids run away so fast. I turned around and just like that, they were all gone. I was politely counseled by my Iraqi counterparts and it was a lesson well-learned...Iraqi children are afraid of dogs with two ears and four legs.

The operation ended with a great sense of accomplishment. The Iraqi soldiers rode back to camp singing as they often do, and also with the knowledge that they do in fact have "it" and are well on their way to defending their country solo. It was a good day for them, and it was a good day for the whole of the country.

Back To the Basics

2005-12-18T09:06:00.001-08:00

Folks, it's time for a change. As I was reading over some of my earlier posts I made a realization. I started this blog in the hopes that it would be a avenue for me to A) keep family and friends informed on how/what I am doing in Iraq, and B) as a release of sorts for myself; which in the beginning, it was both. I have noticed however, that as of late my postings have gravitated toward venting frustration on the liberal media's campaign of misinformation. And while this is without a doubt a noble and much-needed cause, I have realized that at least for the present, it is not my cause.

Another reason for this is because I have noticed myself becoming frustrated. I remember when I was a boy, my Father used to engage in a heated debate with...the television; the "Crossfire" of the bullets was not just happening on the TV, it was occurring in our living room as well! Although at the time I thought he was off his rocker, I have found myself at times wanting to toss this computer out into the sand as I read some of the reports coming from this region. It has been extremely disheartening for me to hear/read about all things negative concerning our mission here in Iraq. I am a firm believer that negativity only breeds more negativity and I will not be its catalyst. I simply will not allow myself to be distracted or disenchanted by some of the garbage coming from the reporters here. If they are comfortable allowing their minds to be consumed with ruminations of negativity in search of ratings, so be it. But I am not, and will not be in their camp. There are many good people who are committed to the truth and also committed to seeing the web of lies being spun by the liberal media destroyed. So as for me and my postings, I intend to return to my roots and once again get back to the basics.

I received an email from my Mother the other day. In it, she told me how much she enjoys hearing what I am doing here and I realized that I haven't given her much to read about as far as that is concerned. So Mom, I guess at least in part, I have you to thank for this realization. Well, my brothers and I have a war to go win. With that, more reports from the front lines to come. Stay the course and fight the good fight guys, and rest assured your Marines will be doing the same.

America "Lucky" in Iraq?

2005-12-17T03:18:00.000-08:00

It appears ladies and gentlemen, that some of our friends within the main-stream media are scratching their collective heads. Their journalistic ship is sinking and like rats, they are scurrying to avoid going under into the abyss. Overheard at the local MSM watercooler:

TOM - "Bob, we've got to rethink our approach to this whole Iraq thing. It looks like it may just work. We've got to save face somehow. What can we do?"

BOB - "I've got it Tom! We'll just say they got lucky and that it was nothing that the Bush administration or the troops did to bring about this success, but that it was just a plain and simple case of blind luck."

TOM - "Brilliant!"

Sound far-fetched? Guess again. In the desperate attempt to discredit President Bush and the coalition forces, there are some who are actually trying to credit our successes to blind luck.

Tucker Carlson (TOM), in his op-ed piece Untied, sided with his anonymous friend (BOB) who appears to be the lead rat in the race to abandon the "Iraq is doomed to fail" ship. "If Bush ends up being right about Iraq", BOB...I mean anynomous stated, "it will be through luck and accident and God's grace, not through any skillful calculation of his own."

So let me get this straight Tucker...you, stating in your piece that you feel your friend is right, honestly believe that we are getting lucky in Iraq? Of course! I see it now...you and your kind have left yourselves no other alternatives. Admiting that you underestimated America and her allie's resolve would be nothing less than devestating. Not an option...So luck, yes luck is what it must have been right? Well friends, allow me to shed some light into your otherwise darkened minds; luck has had about as much involvement in our successes here, as intelligence has had in the development of your careers! Our successes here are the result of blood, sweat and good ol' American determination; nothing else. And I along with many others, take your atrribution as a slap in our faces. We came over here with one option...to win this war against terrorists. And to have some desk-jockey say that we got lucky is detestable. Yes, gentlemen, your ship is indeed sinking and I and my fellow warriors will take great satisfaction in watching it go down. I just hope that you are lucky enough to abandon ship before she takes you with her.

Rock the Vote

2005-12-15T22:09:00.000-08:00

It seemed like a city-wide block party. Iraqis came to the polls chanting, waving flags and singing. Bingo and I have been in the city of Ubadie for the past few days conducting explosive sweeps through the girl's school where the voting will take place. Since I have been here in Iraq, I have not heard celebration such as what I witnessed yesterday. It was a surreal atmosphere. At one time, I looked at one of the Iraqi soldiers and asked him "Are they happy?", as a flag waving throng made their way down one of the streets of the city. "Yes. They say 'Long live Iraq' and 'Today is a great day for all Iraq', he responded as he thrust his ink stained finger in the air. It was indeed a great day for all of us.

There was never a break in the voting line which snaked through razor wire and checkpoints. As it has been reported elsewhere, the Iraqi people exited the school waving their ink-stained finger and singing in Arabic. There would be no cowering to insurgents on this day as entire families either walked or took the bus shuttle service to the polls. Yesterday's voting was the greatest blow to the insurgency to date. I say this for two reasons. First, the Iraqi people, through their overwhelming display of national solidarity and determination, have told the insurgency that they are no longer afraid. Second, yesterday's voting told the coalition forces that we are doing things as they should be done and it strengthened our commitment and resolve. In addition, I think that the Iraqi's understand and appreciate the fact that they are choosing the leaders of their country. More and more everyday, they are realizing that America is not attempting to establish a puppet government here in their country, but we are giving the Iraqi nationals the opportunity to establish a legitimate ruling body for themselves.

As I have said all along, we are doing the right things here in Iraq and yesterday's voter turnout was yet another indication of this fact. "American Success In Iraq"...stick that in your pipe and smoke it Mr. Kerry, Mr. Murtha, Mr. Dean. Get used to the headline gentlemen, because I guarantee you it won't be the last time you see it!

Are We the Enemy?

2005-12-12T04:18:00.000-08:00

I am disgusted. I am disheartened. I am ashamed. I am angry. According to Senator John Kerry, I am a terrorist. According to him, I bust into Iraqi houses in the middle of the night and terrorize women and children. I am not making this up. So as not to be accused of misquoting or misrepresenting his words, I will include them:

KERRY: "And there is no reason, Bob, that young American soldiers need to be going into the homes of Iraqis in the dead of night , terrorizing kids and children, you know women, breaking sort of the customs of the -- of historical customs, religious customs, whether you like it or not."
(read the full transcript)

So apparently now to some, we are the bad guys here. Are we now the infidels Mr. Kerry? The defenders of your freedoms...are we now no better than those who would kill you and your family were it not for us? Let us not forget who the enemy is here, Mr. Kerry. Our enemy is the the radical Islamic militants. And their customs which you seem determined to defend, are killing your countrymen.

We do in fact raid houses. We raid houses with the intent of capturing, killing or otherwise neutralizing insurgents and confiscating any anti-coalition materials. During these raids, we often encounter women, children and innocents who are in no way involved with the insurgency. When they see us and the tools of our trade, they are understandably afraid which is exactly what we want. Because you see, it's that split second of fear that may save my life or the life of another Patriot. As soon as it is determined that there is no terroristic activity being conducted in these houses, we leave. It's that simple. We do not desecrate their homes, cause them undue hardship or otherwise harm them. This is pathetic...I am having to defend myself and my brothers against an elected official of our nation who would have Americans believe that we are warmongers. Disgusting. Some people, Mr. Kerry included, are so far removed from the realities of war that their voice has become irrevelant. Sure, there isn't a single Marine over here who would not rather knock on the door of these houses and sit down for tea and a biscuit and talk about religious customs and courtesies. But as I have written in an earlier post, wars are violent and are won by violent men. This is just the way it is. We are compassionate to those who mean us no harm, and are devastating to those who choose to fight. We are your military force Mr. Kerry, and whether you choose to admit it or not, we are conducting ourselves with the utmost professionalism, proficiency and when it is required of us, compassion. Terrorists? No Mr. Kerry, my brothers and I are not terrorists. We are compassionate warriors, patriots and Americans. I challenge you Mr. Kerry, to take a short walk down the street to Arlington and visit the graves of those warriors who have died during this war. Were they terrorists as well? Were they the enemy?

Let Freedom Ring

2005-12-11T06:51:00.000-08:00

Well, it's almost game time. In days, the Iraqi citizens will elect a 275 member parliament. We are promised that the insurgents will step up their efforts to derail the democratic process here in Iraq. Our response? "Not on our watch". We simply will not lose this battle. While we fight for the Iraqi people, we also fight for our brothers who have given their lives for this cause. We will not dishonor the memories of these warriors by cowering to fanatics. Let it be heard from the mountaintops, "WE WILL NOT LOSE! Brothers, we will continue your fight and we will NOT let you down."

A democratic Iraq is no longer a vision. It is a reality; a result of bravery, heroism and dedication which our enemies cannot even begin to fathom. The cowards whom we fight are heartless and are blinded by their fanaticism and false hopes. They have no concept of soldiery, bravery or virtue; they are the infidels. Many people are not aware of the tactics that these fools use on the battlefield. Allow me if you will, to share a few. They (the insurgents) blindly and cowardly shoot from behind buildings, giving no thought for the lives of children, women or non-combatants in the path of their bullets. They rig mosques with explosives and fire upon coalition troops from within these mosques. Why? It is in the hopes that their foolhardy companions (or a CNN cameraman) will capture coalition troops firing on the mosque as they detonate their explosives giving the appearance that WE destroyed the structure. The enemy's "leaders" flee when the first shot is fired and tell their minions that they must be brave for allah. What kind of bunk is that? Does allah not require bravery from them as well? They hold families hostage in their own homes to use them as a platform for their insurgency. These are the imbeciles whom we fight and who would run this country should we leave and not destroy them and their network.

But again we say, send us your best Al Zarqawi. We are committed to this fight and if need be, we are committed to destroying all who stand in our way, in the way of freedom and in the way of the virtues and character which you and your kind detest. Preach from your cave and sleep with one eye open, for that next bump in the night which you hear, may not be your equally innate and cowardly compadres. It may be a United States Marine who will unfortunately treat you (somewhat) humanly and afford you rights which you have for so long denied others. And when you do wake up and see (and possibly feel) the muzzle of that M-16, please don't try to run or fight; but if you choose to fight, so be it...it will be your last.

The Footprints of Heroes

2005-12-07T08:52:00.000-08:00

Her name in the native tongue is Puu Hawaii Loa. Her story is seldom told anymore, but her history will live forever within the hearts and minds of the Hawaiian Kama`aina as well as the American service members surrounding her. Puu Hawaii Loa is known today as Kansas Tower; a towering mountain on the Windward side of the island of Oahu. KT, as she is called by her Marines, was once the site of American radar towers and on December 7, 1941 it was also the post of several Naval radio operators who died while manning their radar stations. It is situated directly in the center of Marine Corps Base Hawaii, Kaneohe Bay, which has been my home for the past three years.

I have ran up her steep slopes. I have crawled into the machine gun nests still carved into her sides. I have many times stood on her summit and visioned the Imperial Japanese zeros coming over the Ko`olau Mountains to begin their strafing runs on what was then NAS, Kaneohe Bay. I pictured the plumes of black smoke billowing from the hangars that housed their aircraft. I envisioned the quiet Sunday morning in paradise being shattered by machinegun fire, bombs and the screams of terror. Standing on top of KT, I felt a closeness with those heroes who stood then, where I was standing now. The pain that I felt that day as I stood upon her peak, paled in comparison to the pride that I had...for I knew that I was standing in the footprints of heroes.

Military Working Dog Saves Handler's Life

2005-12-06T22:05:00.000-08:00

Cpl Hamma is a dog handler and a very good friend of mine. As I type this, he is back in the US recovering from a gunshot wound sustained while fighting in Ramadi early last month. Please read the story and pray for his safe and quick recovery.

"He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion"-Unknown

Christian Science Monitor Article

2005-12-06T08:53:00.000-08:00

I was directed to an article in the CSM which highlites some of the work that we are doing here. I have worked beside the Marines mentioned in the article and I must say, they are some of the brightest and bravest young men that America has to offer. Be proud that they are on the job! There is also a paragraph in the article about a special and very furry 110lb Marine.

On Polls, Presidents and Passions

2005-12-06T01:05:00.000-08:00

I have never been a big fan of polls. Polls are a mechanism used by politicians to cater to the majority and used by the media to influence the mindless. "Polls show 32% of American's agree with the President's handeling of the War on Terror...down sharply from 80% a year ago." Well folks, let me tell you something...being a President and a leader is not a popularity contest! I did not vote for the president based on how well he caters to the majority regardless if I am a part of it or not. Like many others, I voted for him because he is a man of passion, character and most important of all, a man of steadfastness. I do not lead Marines in the hopes that they will be my friends. I lead with one aim in mind...to keep them alive! Our president's leadership is not based on polls, but rather conviction. I think that I speak accuratly is saying that the president is as concerned with his approval ratings in the polls about as much as he is concerned with what he will have for supper. And for that, I am thankful. Say what you will about the man, but to say that he is whimiscal is absurd.

America, if you don't agree with the predsident's handeling of the war on terror, that is your right that I am fighting to defend. But ask yourselves this: What are you doing to help the situation other than shaking your collective heads at the television set, convinced by the latest poll numbers that we are off the mark? I would rather that we have thousands of informed citizens peacefully demonstrating on the lawns of the White House protesting the war, than a country full of mindless zombies sitting in their lazy-boys being fed their daily dose of opinion from the talking head. Get up, get out and get informed and if in the end, you still feel that we are off the mark and following a whimiscal leader, better luck to you in '08. One last thing...be thankful that you have the liberty to have any personal opinion at all. I see people everyday who do not understand what that's like.

Pat Buchannan summed up nicely the schism that is present between the president and other political "leaders" in his piece Bush Raises and Calls on Chris Matthew's blog. And if you've never read anything that I've suggested before, please read this.

A Bit of Justice...Iraqi Style.

2005-12-05T02:16:00.000-08:00

As some of you may have heard or read, former US Attorney General Ramsey Clark (under Lyndon Johnson's admin.) has traveled to Iraq to assist Saddam Hussein's legal defense team. "Our plan is to go to court in Baghdad on Monday morning representing the defense counsel as defense support. A fair trial in this case is absolutely imperative for historical truth to justice obviously," Clark told the Reuters news agency before trodding off to Baghdad on his crusade for international justice. Clark, who opposed the Iraq war and who also met with Saddam in 2003 prior to the American led invasion, was introduced to a bit of legal decorum Monday morning...Iraqi style.

Before stomping out of the courtroom, where he was reportedly seen crying into his blankey, Clark was informed by Chief Judge Rizgar Mohammed Amin that according to the court which Amin noted was established by an elected Iraqi government, only Hussein's chief counsel was authroized to address the court. Clark was not to be disuaded. He futily attempted to address the court for some fifteen minutes only to be informed by Judge Amin that Arabic was the only recognized language of the court. "Thanks for your input...now sit down!" (author's note). Welcome to the beginnings of a democratic Iraq, Mr. Clark!

Mr. Clark, who undoubtedly opposed the Iraq invansion as an attempt by imperialistic America to impose her democratic ideals on the country, is now attempting to do the same thing that he once derided America for doing. Mr Clark, may I remind you that you are no longer in America. This is not an American court. This is Iraqi judicial precedent. I apologize to you if you feel that your legal cause would be better served under the brutal hand of him whom you seek to so nobly defend. Fortunalty for the sake of justice, the new Iraq that I and so many others have helped establish, does not ascribe to the winings of American attorneys.

The basis for Mr. Clark's argument is that the tribunal is not a legal judicial body, but rather one created under a country who is currently occupied by a foreign body. Once again Mr. Clark, America did not establish this court. The court and its chief justice was appointed by a leader who was elected by the people of Iraq not one who was placed on the bench by any American. Nice try though.

To no one's surprise, Saddam, aided by his equally innate half-brother Barazan Ibrahim, continued their preemptive strike for an insanity plea, by shouting, "Why don't you just execute us?", and "Long live Iraq!". Well, gentlemen, I echo your sentiments and hope that both your wishes are wrapped nicely, tied with a bow and left under your CHRISTmas tree. (For an explanation to the Christmas debate, visit Capt. B's blog).

One last suggestion if I may Mr. Clark...As soon as you learn to speak Arabic and the Iraqi court decides to allow you to speak, dry your tears and and make a motion for a change of venue to the New York Supreme Court, you know...just down the street from ground zero? Maybe there, you will find your idea of how a court should be conducted and who knows, the Hussein's might see their holiday wishes come true as well! Isn't democracy simply grand?

A Must Read

2005-12-04T06:21:00.000-08:00

I came along this story, Steel Curtain Unmasked; The Story Behind the Battle for the Western Euphrates, written by Bill Roggio at threatswatch.org. He goes into great detail describing Operation Steel Curtain in the Al Anbar province of Western Iraq, and because I was there, I can vouch for its accuracy. You can read the entire article here and I encourage you to do so.

Not long after I returned from Operation Steel Curtain, I wrote several pages...mostly as a release of emotion and stress. I thought I would include exerpts here as it seems fitting...

Walking down the narrow streets of the city, put us at great risk. There were choke points at every intersection. I was not afraid of a head-to-head shootout. Our enemies were not inclined to engage in a direct firefight with the Marines as the odds were severely not in their favor. It was the invisible fighter that we all feared. The IEDs. You cannot fight several hundred pounds of explosives hidden in a wall connected to a pressure plate beckoning your foot to cross its path. You simply do not have a chance against this invisible enemy. If I was going to die during this battle, I prayed that at least I would be able to fight those who would try and kill me. Even after I returned from the operation, I found myself avoiding any gravel, freshly unearthed dirt or anything that looked out of place within my path. It became instinct; a mechanism of survival.
Personally, this operation was a real eye opener for me. It was the first time I witnessed men being shot, shooting at men myself and being exposed to the sights and sounds of warfare. Much of what I feel and will eventually write, might sound very foreign to the outsider. The story of war is best told by the war fighter and his story is often either not understood or misinterpreted by those who were not on the battlefield with him. I believe that this is why so many people are reluctant to speak of their wartime experiences…it is a foreign language to those who have not been there. This next thought may prove to be hard for some to understand. I feel that to be successful in combat, you have to lose or at least be able to subdue your fear of dying. I don’t know if I made a conscious effort or if my fear of death just naturally subsided.
“When it’s your time…“ . I heard the grunts say this more times than I can remember. To them, it was a trite statement; a mantra that they claimed kept their head in the game. I of course knew that my fate was not in the hands of some cosmic clock absent of any plan. As they did, I understood that my life may end on this battlefield. Unlike many of them however, I understood that if I were to die there, it would be because my life was taken by my God and that I would spend eternity with Him. I did not completely lose my fear of death, but I had an understanding of death that many of my brothers-in-arms could not understand.
There were many times during this battle where I honestly believed that I could quite literally be walking into my grave. Bingo and I were called upon to search cars, potholes and crawl spaces; all of which could have very easily been our last. I was afraid. I was very afraid. I was afraid that my wife and children may never see me again. I was afraid that my remains would be flown home to my grieving family in a flag draped casket. I did not have a selfish fear of my death. I feared death for the grief that would undoubtedly follow. I feared death for the sake of my wife and the sake of our children. I am perfectly at peace within myself if my life is required for the cause of freedom for I know my fate. I know what lies in store for me after I am dead. I am not eager to die but I know where I am going when I do die. This is what kept my head in the game

What It's All About

2005-12-04T01:58:00.000-08:00

A young Iraqi boy holding a MRE (Meal, Ready To Eat) that I gave him while on a patrol through a city. Many of these children will soon be able to return to school; something that they have not been able to do in a very long time due to the insurgent activity in their cities. This is what it's all about.

Nights in Iraq

2005-12-03T11:44:00.000-08:00

There is much that I have written concerning the operations that I have been on since I arrived in Iraq. I wish that I could share some of the stories with you all but I am understandably reluctant to out of concerns for operational security. The internet is a wide-open arena and there are many people I am told, who purposely read sites such as mine in an attempt to gain knowledge concerning our techniques, tactics and procedures. But I will not be the one to jeopardize my life or the lives of my brothers out of negligence. I am reminded of Geraldo Rivera and his now infamous drawing in the sand on CNN detailing the location of the Army unit whom he was imbedded with and as a result of his journalistic negligence, his expedited exodus out of Iraq. So when you read what I have written and will eventually write, please understand my reticence to share certain operational details as I do not want to end up with a one way ticket back to the States before my job here is finished. I do however, want to share with you all what it was like at night during a particular operation that Bingo and I were involved in. If there is something that “just doesn’t seem right” about what I have written and you are left scratching your head, please understand there are some details which I have purposely omitted. But I trust that you will be able to get a sense of how I have spent many of my nights in Iraq which is my intent and desire…

During the operation, I prayed for the darkness. The fighting was fierce in the daylight hours and night was the only time that you could forget to a certain extent, that you were in a combat zone. Except for the occasional burst of gunfire and the ever-present humm of aircraft overhead, it was relatively quiet. We would sleep in a house that we cleared and had long-since been abandoned by its inhabitants (willingly or otherwise). Occasionally we would get lucky and end up in a house with small mattresses used by the Iraqis to sleep on. These proved to be fairly comfortable. What I really prayed for even more than the mattresses, was a source of running water. We didn’t dare drink the water as it is filled with bacteria and promised to leave the poor once thirsty Marine and his bowels wishing that he had remained thirsty and never drank it. It was however, a perfect solution to prickly-heat on our backs and for washing our screaming feet. It was very comical when the word was passed that we would be stopping for the night. As soon as it was passed, Marines began laying stake to whatever real estate looked promising within the house. Mattresses seemed to come from out of nowhere and our cumbersome gear was shed at an alarming pace.
I began to establish a routine. So as not to imposition others, I purposely looked for the unwanted piece of real estate as Bingo would take up his share of space and the share of at least three other Marines. As a result, this often landed me mattress-less and near a window…both less than ideal. I would feed Bingo from the food supply that I carried around with me in my patrol pack and begin my hunt for a water source. Bottled water was a precious commodity and no one dared even begin to consider using it for anything other than drinking. More times than not, the houses either had a sink, some form of a shower or a water hose. Also more times than not, there was no water running to these houses. When I did find water, I would wash my feet often two or three times. Every third day, I would change my underclothes which left me to some extent, feeling like a new man. There is no worse and futile feeling than putting sweat-drenched socks on clean feet or a sweat stained shirt on your back, but you do whatever you can. So with somewhat clean feet and the ever-present itchy back, I returned to Bingo to eat my dinner.
We would stage our day packs containing sleeping bags and other non-essential items on a high-back humvee which would follow us throughout the city albeit at a very safe distance. Also in this humvee was our daily resupply of chow, water , ammunition and in my case, extra dog food. Most nights our humvee would catch up with us. There were however, a few nights when it did not. The temperatures were in the low forties at night and without our sleeping bags, the cold was bitter. You would be hard pressed to find an unhappier group of people than the Marines after they are told that they will not be resupplied until the next morning. If the rush to find adequate sleeping positions was chaotic when the word was passed to go firm (Marine-speak meaning stop for the night), the melee accompanying the word that the resupply humvee was not going to make it to our position was horrifying. Now you not only wanted a good sleeping position and a mattress, but you absolutely had to have some sort of blanket. It was not uncommon for Marines to leave an absolute perfect sleeping position in search of a blanket, only to return to find their position re-acquired by another Marine. I however, had a wonderful one hundred pound fur blanket that absolutely loved to sleep as close to me as possible. Many nights, I would fall asleep fully on a mattress only to wake up on the cold concrete of the floor with Bingo sleeping soundly on what was once my bed. To be honest, more times than not, I would allow him to use the mattress as he was working as hard if not harder than I during the day. I could only hope that he was willing to share. Here in our hooch, I cannot allow him to sleep with me in my bed as he constantly wants to play, lick my face or otherwise interrupt my much hallowed slumber. During the operation however, he slept harder than I. It was not unusual for me to wake up in the morning to find him in the same position he was in when he fell asleep. There were several times that I had to ensure he was still breathing. He proved himself worthy in combat which is what every Marine desires to be told.
No one wanted to get out from under their sleeping bag or blanket as the mornings were frigid. Mornings were always an interesting time. Most mornings, the expletives would only be outnumbered by moans and complaints about sore backs, knees and feet. Most Marines would put their boots on, pack everything except their sleeping bags and try and sneak in another 20 minutes of much needed sleep. To the outsider, we received more than enough time for sleep. If you played your cards right, you could easily get 8-10 hours a night. Our bodies and minds were so taxed throughout the day however, that 8 hours of sleep seemed like 5 minutes in the morning. It was amazing to see the transformation that occurred as soon as we began to once again push forward through the city. There was no loss of tactical intensity with any of the Marines that I was with. It was as if our minds picked up right where we left off the previous day. We knew that we had a job to do and were determined that no one was going to slow our progress. I was thankful and proud that I was fighting beside these men and not against them.

America's Unsung Heroes

2005-12-03T02:58:00.000-08:00

I am very grateful for all the words of encouragement and support that I have received since I deployed…we all are. I want something be known though. Without the love and support of my wife, I would be unable to do what I am doing. I shudder at the thought of being here with anyone other than my wife manning the front lines of our home. So while we may be deserving of the thanks of our nation, I feel that the husbands and wives of your service members are deserving of so much more. For without them, many of us would not be able to accomplish the mission that has been set before us. They are the unsung heroes of our country and the bravest of hearts and strongest of souls. They are the ones making the true sacrifices and being left to accomplish a mission by themselves that was not meant to be done alone. It is my hope that when Americans feel a debt of gratitude for the men and women fighting to protect their freedom, that they also feel indebted to the ones fighting to protect America’s families in our absence.

Uninvited Guest

2005-12-02T03:33:00.000-08:00

This guy thought he'd drop in for a visit. It was
however, a shorter visit than he had planned.

Introducing Bingo

2005-12-02T01:30:00.000-08:00

This handsome fellow deserves a post dedicated to him. Allow me if you will, to now introduce Bingo, my overly rambunctious and eager partner. I have never worked with a dog like him and as a result, I have no comparative equal. Let me say without reservation however, that if Bingo were a human, he would undoubtedly be overly-medicated on Ridlin. He is incredibly adept at finding explosives, but when stillness and passivity are required, he is found lacking. He is the proverbial child who is absolutely certain that if he is not at the center of activity, he will be left out of the festivities and forever forgotten. He is three, going on one. In an otherwise calm, quiet and relaxed environment, he is the ideal companion. One problem…combat is none of these. Prior to making entry into a house, where in his mind we are in the rear of all the “activity”, his impatience and constant jockeying for position had me at wits end. Exiting the amtracks during the operations was no different. I had to be the first to exit the vehicle as Bingo would have either dragged me over everyone else, or injured himself in the attempt. On foot patrols, the only reprieve I found was when he would tire himself out to the point where he was content to simply walk along beside me. To this day, I have not been able to find a solution to his incessant longing to be at the forefront of everything but I trust six months in a combat zone may slow him down a bit. If not... ridlin may do the trick. Regardless of his over-zealous nature, I would not trade him for any other explosive detection device ever created. In this area, his equal cannot be found. He has potentially saved the lives of many Marines here and for that, he will always have a place with us...even if it is at the front of everything!

2005-12-01T05:52:00.000-08:00

Bingo and I getting a much needed breather
in a house in the City of Saddah during
Operation Ironfist.

2005-12-01T03:08:00.000-08:00

Bingo and I on a very chilly morning on Market Street in the city of Husaybah during Operation Steel Curtain.

A Few Thoughts

2005-12-01T01:57:00.000-08:00

I often find myself lying in bed awake at night. I am surrounded by war and the tools of its trade. I am required to sleep with my rifle at an arms reach away. There are tanks parked yards away from where I live. Attack helicopters are constantly flying over my head. Every night, I hear about troops in contact, casualty updates and a host of other issues relating to war. I cannot escape the sights and sounds of destruction and I would be lying if I said that this has not aaffected me. It has. I lie awake at night and ask myself what brought us to this? As a civilization of human beings, what kind of lunacy causes one people to reach a point where the death of another is the only solution to conflict? We as Americans believe that democracy and liberty is a gift from God bestowed to every man regardless of his socioeconomic status, religious affiliation or ethnicity. Our enemies disagree. They hold that democracy has led to the moral decline of this planet and will eventually result in its demise. And because of this, at this very moment, our country is at war with terrorists and we are killing each other.
There are thousands of Americans fighting this war for almost as many different reasons. Some see it as retribution for the September 11th attacks on our country. Some want to finish a job that they believe was not finished during Desert Storm. Others are fighting to help establish a democratic way of life for a people whose majority longs for it. The list goes on and on. I honestly believe however, that there are those who have never really given their involvement in this war serious thought and have never questioned their motivation for fighting; they are simply following orders. They are here because they were told to. They fight because they were told to. They kill because they were told to. This is very frustrating for me. Robots act without thought because they are told to. Humans should act because they believe in a cause. Without an understanding and a personal commitment to this cause for which we are fighting, you are nothing but a robot receiving orders and acting as programmed. As a responsible adult and human being who is quite engaged in this war, I have to ask myself some very important questions. Why am I here? Why am I willing to take a human life to defend this war? And most importantly, do I believe in this cause for which we are fighting…a cause for which I am fighting. More on that later.
Political pundits have spun this war out of control. They would have us believe that its pretenses were diabolical and purposely misleading to the American people. They cite the lack the proverbial smoking gun…weapons of mass destruction and a lack of evidence linking Saddam Hussein’s Iraq to the attacks on America. Because of these they argue, America has waged an unjust war. George Bush, they cry, has led our country into a quagmire akin to Vietnam and that our presence in Iraq has diminished our global credibility. What has been forgotten among this smokescreen of partisanship, is in my opinion the most important reason for the necessity of this war…to free a country from the tyrannical grips of a fanatical lunatic.
Why all of a sudden, have people forgotten that Saddam Hussein was not going to voluntarily relinquish his grasp on Iraq and that military action was the only solution? Why don’t we hear politicians reminding us that we as the lone superpower in this world, had an obligation to enforce sanctions imposed by the United Nations ignored by Hussein’s Baath Party? We are bombarded by the politicians and media as to the lack of evidence of WMD and Hussein’s alleged link to the 9/11 attacks. Both of which were fundamental reasons for declaring this war by the Bush administration, and a declaration may I remind you, which was approved by America‘s elected, representative Congress. We are inundated with all the reasons why now, in retrospect, this was an illegitimate war. The question to ponder is this: Why don’t we hear any of the reasons reminding of us why we needed to go to war and should go to war? This is my answer…That Saddam Hussein was a despot cannot be argued. Along with this, is the fact that he would mercilessly murder his own family and countrymen if he felt threatened by them. For years, he scoffed at the United Nations and their sanctions because he could. Three presidential administrations recognized him as a major threat to national security and to various extents flexed America’s military muscle against his country. In short, he was a threat to his country and a threat to global security. These are the facts and are without refutation. Based on these, I can think of no better support for a declaration of war and at one time, our Congress thought so as well. But in an attempt to sway public opinion in our mindless society, politicians have chosen to replace these legitimate reasons for this war that can be proven, with the legitimate reasons that cannot be proven. And Americans are taking the bait; hook, line and sinker. They are in a forest without a single tree.
I mean, at some point in time, at least 2/3 of the Congress believed that a declaration of war was justified. But now I hear Congressmen who voted for a war declaration saying that we should immediately remove all American presence from Iraq. How irresponsible some of this countries leaders, and I use that term very loosely, are to suggest that America should no longer have a presence in Iraq. Regardless of the perceived errors in post-war planning that some believe the Bush administration has made in Iraq, to completely pull American forces out of Iraq at this moment, would only then cause a bad situation to become worse. It hurts me deeply to say this, but if we left Iraq in its current state, I would be ashamed of the country whose flag I followed into combat. How American would it be for us to abandon a people who have become dependent on our assistance as a result of a war which we declared? Since when do we turn our backs on a nation in need once we have committed ourselves to their care? We are so quick to pour billions of dollars in aid to countries in need as all this takes is a few signatures. But when the stakes are raised and the sacrifice to help a nation heal becomes American lives instead of American dollars, all of a sudden it is no longer worth the effort. This is not the ideals of my America. My America commits itself to a cause it deems worthy and if necessary, she is willing to send her sons and daughters to sacrifice their lives in defense of this cause. I can picture it:

Dear Iraq,
America is very sorry. We know that we have disbanded your entire military, nearly disrupted your countries entire infrastructure and abolished your former ruling political party. Know that we had the best of intentions when we first started. We now regret to inform you that we made a mistake and that your country’s rebuilding is going to take longer than we had initially anticipated. It is also resulting in more American deaths than we can handle. So it is with regretful hearts and deep pockets that we must abandon your country. We are however, a caring people. So as not to leave you entirely on your own, we proudly present you with this check for eighty billion dollars. Best of luck with the Syrians.
Sincerely,
America

I am reminded of another group of people who were put to a similar test. This is what their apology letter may have read:

Dear Colonies,
Your forefathers are very sorry. We know that we have encouraged you to leave your homes in England, caused the death of many of your family members and placed you at the mercy of the most powerful military in existence. Know that we had the best of intentions when we first started. We now regret to inform you that we made a mistake and our country’s building is going to take longer than we had initially anticipated. It is also resulting in more colonialist’s deaths than we can handle. So it is with regretful hearts that we must abandon our plans to establish a free and democratic country. We are however, a caring people. Take as much of the new land as you wish. Best of luck with the red man.
Sincerely,
Your Forefathers

How absurd. Come on America…wake up and think! Never in our history have we quit fighting for a cause that we have deemed worthy simply because its achievement was too difficult or costly. What a sad state of affairs we are in when now we question our resolve and look for the fastest and most cost-effective way out of a difficult situation. Maybe our country is traveling down the path of self-ruin. Maybe this is how our nation will create its own demise…through a lack of commitment and the message that this sends to the rest of the world. When we become a nation that seeks the path of least resistance, our time is fast coming to its end.
“We are involved in another Vietnam.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this war compared to the Vietnam conflict. Why is this? Is it because we naively anticipated a two week campaign and now we are going on the third year of this battle? If so, I say, “Who cares!” Who cares how long it takes to accomplish the goals we have set for ourselves in Iraq. My America neglects her goals and ideals for no man and especially not for a imaginary, unrealistic and most importantly, an unstated timetable. America’s resolve has been put to a test and to think that we may fail this test because it was not done as fast as some think it should have been deeply angers me. We have placed an entire country in a state of almost total dependence on us and now we are being urged to leave them to fend for themselves because it is taking too long? I would submit to you that to establish a timetable for our withdrawal from Iraq would be grievously irresponsible. You want a timetable? I echo my President when he says that our timetable is when our mission is accomplished and we have created an independent Iraq capable of self-rule, self-defense and self sustainment. Surly the comparison to Vietnam has not been made because we have not been making progress and are not holding ground as we win it. I cannot speak for the whole of the country, but I can speak for the area of operations in which I am currently serving. We have rid four major cities of hundreds of insurgents. And guess what, weeks after the offensives, we are still in these cities and have committed ourselves to the residents of these cities for months to come.
I do not know what the end-game will be in Iraq. I have no idea how much longer we will be here. I do know that I am thankful that our nation has been blessed with a president who is a man of commitment and I am honored to serve under him and with him. And take it from a man who has been on the front lines of the battle against terrorism, it is a war that we are more than capable of winning if we commit ourselves to finishing what we have started. I am honored to be an American, and I hope, regardless of what the Monday morning quarterbacks may say from the sidelines, that America will remain as steadfast as the men who gave America her freedom. Freedom was not free for them, nor is it now.

America's Son

2005-11-30T23:43:00.000-08:00

A picture of Bingo and I at one of the Battle Positions that was under construction.